A library for my writing

Italics = works in progress

The Alienist

Marcus Isaacson

Agreeing to be bait for a case and Marcus disagrees

Marcus angry at the team when you get hurt going undercover

Admitting to Marcus that you are in love with him

Agreeing to be Marcus' date for one of the important dinners

Imagine Marcus when he finds out your fiancé is not very nice to you

Marvel

Bucky Barnes

Bucky checking you're still behind him while on a mission

Bucky when he realises you were right there as he put on the winter soldier persona

Seeing Bucky for the first time post winter soldier mode

Picking Bucky up from the station after he promised he wouldn't get arrested again (AU)

Bucky when he discovers you've been taken

Bucky worries about an upcoming mission

Imagine a target gets the upper hand and Bucky steps in to help

Tethered and torn - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Triple Frontier

Frankie Morales

Frankie having an issue with you joining them on a mission

Benny Miller

Imagine Pope when he tells Benny you've gone missing

Benny when he realises Pope called you in for a mission

Imagine Benny when you come to him for help

Imagine Benny when you run into your ex

Imagine Benny when your ex still won't leave you alone

Narcos

Javier Pena

Javier when he finds out you went out alone, against his orders

Imagine Javier when Los Pepes threaten to hurt you if he doesn't work with them

Being concerned about Javier and his headaches

Imagine Javier when you go missing

Imagine you’re injured during a cartel ambush

You were just a job

You don't get to be jealous

He what?

Don't move

Call me

Don't touch her

A Quiet Place 1&2

Didn't think you'd come

Emmett

When he realises one of the creatures is nearby

The Punisher

Billy Russo

Billy meeting you for the first time

Turning up to an event Billy is running

Your boss has a meeting with Billy Russo

Criminal Minds

Spencer Reid

When someone is being rude to you

Spencer looking after you when you get hurt on a stakeout

Going through relationship issues with Spencer and a scare at works sets you both back on the right track

Imagine Spencer when you suggest a risky tactic for a case

Spencer when you disappear while on a case

Getting into an argument with Spencer

Spencer when he's brought in as a suspect

Thomas (The Maze Runner)

Thomas when he finds you trying to leave

When he finds you at the W.I.C.K.E.D Headquarters

Thomas when he sees that Janson has you.

Thomas when you make a reckless decision

Imagine Thomas when you get injured as the last city falls apart

You run out of patience with Thomas and his self sacrificial nature

Imagine Thomas thinking you didn't make it

Imagine meeting Thomas when you work at WICKED

Tyler Owens

You can't watch Tyler put himself in danger anymore

Stiles Stilinski

Found You

Joel Miller

Close To Home (No Outbreak!AU), Part Two, Part Three Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part 11

Still Yours

Good Reason

Walk Away

That Was You

Bait

Drowning

The Rookie

Tim Bradford

It happened outside the Hard Deck, months after you moved into Bradley’s spare room with two bags, a bruised kind of silence, and a smile that made everyone around you act softer without saying why. You were Bradley’s sister in every way that had mattered. Not by blood, but by late-night phone calls, old emergency contacts, shared Christmases, and the kind of loyalty people stopped questioning once they saw it up close. When your three-year relationship ended badly, Bradley had driven through the night to get you. He packed your things while you sat in his Bronco with your hands locked in your lap, and when he brought you home, he did not ask how long you needed. He just made up the spare bed and bought the cereal you liked.

Jake noticed you slowly at first, then all at once. Bradley caught him looking across the bar one night while you stood near Phoenix, arms folded around yourself, laughing quietly at something you almost looked like you believed was funny. Jake was not doing his usual thing. There was no grin aimed your way, no cocky little line waiting behind his teeth, no easy pursuit. He was just watching you with an expression Bradley did not like because it was careful.

“Don’t,” Bradley said, low enough that no one else heard.

Jake looked over, one brow lifting. “You want to be more specific, or are we working with caveman rules tonight?”

“My sister,” Bradley said. “Don’t.”

The humour left Jake’s face. He looked toward you again, then back at Bradley. “I’m not doing anything.”

“I know you. You do plenty before you call it anything.” Bradley stepped closer, beer hanging forgotten at his side, his voice still controlled but harder now. “She got out of something bad. She came here because she needed safe. Not exciting. Not complicated. Safe.”

Jake’s jaw tightened, but he did not look offended in the way Bradley expected. He looked like he understood enough to know he was not being given the whole story. “I know she’s been through something.”

“No,” Bradley said. “You know the version that fits in a sentence. You don’t know what it took for her to leave. You don’t know what she looked like when she got to my door.”

Jake went quiet then. He glanced through the window again and watched you tuck your hair behind your ear, your smile fading the second no one was looking directly at you.

“She’s my sister,” Bradley said. “Don’t even think about it, Seresin. Not with her.”

Jake looked back at him after a long second and nodded once. “Copy that.”

For a while, Jake tried.

He really did. That was the part nobody else would believe later, not even Bradley. Jake stayed on his side of the line so deliberately it became its own kind of confession. He did not flirt with you at the bar. He did not crowd you in doorways. If you sat beside him because it was the only free seat, he gave you space and aimed his attention somewhere safer. He treated you like something breakable, and you hated that enough to start talking to him just to make him stop.

It began with small arguments. You told him his pool game was ninety per cent ego and ten per cent geometry. He told you that was still more maths than Rooster had ever brought to the table. You stole his fries one night without asking, and he looked so surprised that you did it again out of spite. Somewhere in those ordinary things, Jake stopped looking like Bradley’s warning and started looking like a person who made you feel awake without making you feel hunted.

The first time he kissed you, it was in Bradley’s driveway after a grocery run.

You had both been sent out for party supplies because Bradley had decided hosting the team meant buying four bags of crisps and acting like that counted as catering. Jake carried the heavy bags inside while Bradley was still out, then followed you back to the porch for the last crate of drinks. He should have left. You should have gone inside. Instead, the porch light buzzed above you, and the two of you stood too close beside his truck while the night pressed warm around the house.

“Bradley told you to stay away from me,” you said.

Jake’s mouth twitched, but there was no real smile in it. “He did.”

“And you listened?”

His eyes moved over your face, careful enough that it hurt. “I tried.”

That was the thing that got you. Not a line. Not a grin. The honesty of it. The fact he looked almost frustrated by how badly he had failed at not wanting you. You should have stepped back. Instead, you said, “I don’t want you to.”

Jake did not move until you did. Even then, he was slow. His hand came to your jaw like a question, and when you nodded, he kissed you like he knew the difference between being wanted and being taken. You went inside ten minutes later with your mouth warm and your hands shaking, and Bradley asked why you looked cold when it was nearly seventy degrees outside.

The secret lasted six months.

It became a second life folded inside the first. Jake’s sweatshirt hidden under your pillow. His hand finding yours beneath tables where no one could see. Late-night texts from his truck parked two streets away because he would not come to the house unless you asked. Your toothbrush in his bathroom, tucked behind a razor like that made it invisible. He hated the hiding more than he said. You knew because he stopped smiling every time Bradley’s name came up between you, because the silence after became too full.

“We need to tell him,” Jake said more than once.

You always said, “Not yet.”

Jake tried to be patient because he knew Bradley was the one safe place you had run to when everything else collapsed. He knew you were afraid of what would happen if that place turned conditional, if Bradley looked at you with betrayal and made the house feel borrowed. Jake would go quiet every time you said that. Not because he disagreed. Because he knew the longer it went on, the worse the hurt would be when it finally broke open.

It broke open at Bradley’s house, during a party neither of you wanted.

The place was too full. Music from the speaker by the back door, people gathered in the kitchen, someone laughing in the hallway, beer bottles lined along the counter like Bradley had given up pretending anyone was using coasters. You had spent most of the evening moving between rooms, checking food, collecting empty cups, giving yourself jobs because jobs made it easier not to watch Jake.

He had arrived late, and you felt him before you saw him. That was dangerous too, how quickly your body knew where he was. He came through the front door with Coyote and Fanboy, smiling at something Payback said, but his eyes found yours in the kitchen almost immediately. It was only a second. Nobody else would have called it anything. To you, it was the whole night turning its head.

You were alone in the kitchen later, fighting with a bottle of salad dressing that would not open, when Jake stepped in behind you.

“Need backup?” he asked.

You did not look up because you were already smiling, and that was the problem. “Against a bottle?”

“I’ve seen men lose to less.”

“You especially?”

“You wound me.”

“You live.”

Jake came closer, but not too close. Even after six months, even with the house loud and everyone distracted, he still watched for the moment your body said no before your mouth had to. You set the bottle down and turned to him, and the smile left his face the second he saw how tired you were.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“That was too fast.”

“It’s a party. I’m supposed to be tired.”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been avoiding being obvious.”

His jaw shifted. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t know what you look like when you’re about to cry.”

Your throat tightened. You looked toward the hallway, but no one was there. “Jake.”

“We tell him tonight.”

“No.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

“You said that last week.”

“No, you said not tonight last week. I’m changing tactics.”

You should have laughed. On any other night, maybe you would have. Instead, your face crumpled slightly before you could catch it, and Jake’s expression softened so quickly it hurt. He stepped in, his hand settling at your waist, gentle and familiar.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

You looked at him then. “I’m scared.”

His face changed, and whatever argument he had been ready to make died right there. “I know.”

The words were barely out before Bradley appeared in the kitchen doorway.

He had an empty beer bottle in one hand. His eyes dropped to Jake’s hand at your waist, then lifted to your face. You stepped away from Jake so quickly you knocked your hip against the counter. The movement made Bradley’s expression shift from shock into something worse, something hurt enough to become angry before anyone could reach it.

The music from the back room kept playing for another few seconds, cheerful and completely wrong, until someone turned it down.

Bradley did not look away from Jake. “How long?”

You said his name, but it came out small.

“How long?” he repeated.

Jake’s shoulders went square. “Bradshaw.”

“No.” Bradley stepped into the kitchen. “Do not do that. Don’t stand there in my house and say my name like you get to be calm about this.”

You moved forward slightly. “Bradley, please. Can we talk somewhere else?”

His eyes flicked to you, and for one second you saw him trying to listen. Then he looked at Jake again, and the hurt won. “How long has he been sneaking around with you?”

Jake’s voice hardened. “Don’t phrase it like that.”

Bradley laughed once, disbelieving and sharp. “You want to correct my phrasing?”

“Yes,” Jake said. “If you’re going to make it sound like something ugly happened to her instead of something she chose.”

That word landed badly. You felt it before Bradley even turned. His face changed, and your stomach went cold because you had seen that kind of shift before from someone else. A normal word becoming a weapon because the room was angry enough to sharpen it.

Bradley looked at you. “You chose this?”

It should have been a question. It should have meant, are you okay, did he push, do you want this, tell me what happened so I can understand. But it did not come out that way. It came out rough and hurt, like accusation had got to his mouth first.

You froze.

Jake noticed immediately. So did Phoenix, who had appeared in the hallway with Bob behind her and Coyote just beyond them. Bradley noticed a heartbeat later, and his face drained of colour.

“No,” he said quickly. “No, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You were not really in the kitchen anymore. You could see it, the counter, the bottle of dressing, Jake’s hand half-raised and stopped in the air, Bradley’s face full of instant regret. But your body had gone somewhere older. Somewhere with a different man and a different house and the same feeling of being trapped between a raised voice and a door.

Jake moved toward you. “Baby.”

Bradley’s head snapped toward him. “Don’t.”

Jake turned on him, eyes suddenly furious. “Do not start with me right now.”

“Don’t call her that in front of me like I’m the problem here.”

“You are the problem if you keep sounding like him.”

The whole kitchen went silent.

Bradley moved before anyone expected it. He shoved Jake hard in the chest, not enough to send him down, but enough to knock him back against the counter. The bottle rattled. Phoenix swore and pushed forward. Jake came off the counter fast, not swinging, but close enough that Coyote grabbed his arm before he could make the decision.

“You don’t get to say that to me,” Bradley snapped.

“I’ll say it if it’s true.”

“It is not true.”

“Then stop scaring her.”

That hit the room like a thrown glass. Bradley looked at you again, and the devastation in his face almost cut through the fog, but then Jake pulled against Coyote’s grip and Bradley stepped toward him and the voices rose again.

“You lied to my face for six months,” Bradley said.

“I lied to you,” Jake shot back. “She was scared of losing you.”

“She should have trusted me.”

“She did. That’s why it hurt when you looked at her like she’d done something dirty.”

Bradley swung then. It was not clean and not planned, more shoulder and fury than fist, but it caught Jake near the jaw. Phoenix shouted. Coyote hauled Jake back as Jake surged forward, and Payback got between Bradley and the island with both hands up. The kitchen erupted around you, people talking over each other, Jake snarling Bradley’s name, Bradley saying something about his sister, Phoenix telling them both to shut up.

You slipped out while they were still fighting.

Nobody stopped you. Nobody even saw you go. That hurt later, but in the moment it felt like the only mercy left. You moved through the living room, past the abandoned drinks and the dark speaker and the front door standing slightly open from people moving in and out all night. You stepped onto the porch without your bag, without your phone, without your car keys. You kept walking because stopping would mean deciding, and deciding was too hard.

The night air was damp and warm. You walked down Bradley’s street with your arms folded tight around yourself, every shout from the house following you until distance finally swallowed it. You told yourself you would just go around the block. By the time you reached the corner, you were crying too hard to see properly. By the time you reached the main road, you could not remember whether you had turned left because you meant to or because your feet had chosen before your head could.

Back at the house, Jake realised first.

He had shaken Coyote off and was breathing hard near the counter, eyes still locked on Bradley. Bradley had blood at the corner of his mouth from where he had bitten his lip in the scuffle. The whole room was staring at them like nobody knew whether the worst of it had passed.

Then Jake looked toward the spot where you had been.

Empty.

His face changed so completely that Bradley followed his gaze before Jake said anything.

“Where is she?” Jake asked.

Phoenix turned. “She was just here.”

Jake moved past her, calling your name into the hall. Bradley went the other way, checking the living room, the bathroom, the back patio. Your phone was on the coffee table, buzzing with missed calls from Jake because he had been texting you from ten feet away before the party. Your bag was still on the chair. Your car was blocked in the driveway.

The front door was open.

Bradley stood in the entryway and stared at it.

The anger went out of him so fast it left him hollow.

Jake came back from the porch, face pale. “She’s not outside.”

Bradley grabbed his keys from the table. “She can’t have gone far.”

Jake’s eyes flashed. “You don’t know that.”

“She doesn’t have her phone.”

“I know.”

“She doesn’t have her car.”

“I know.”

Bradley turned on him then because fear needed somewhere to go, and Jake was still the easiest target in the room. “This is your fault.”

Jake’s face went still.

Phoenix said, “Bradley.”

“No,” Jake said, voice low. “Let him. Let him say it.”

Bradley stepped closer. “I told you to stay away from her.”

“And I didn’t.”

“You lied.”

“Yes.”

“You brought this into my house.”

Jake’s jaw flexed. “And you made that house feel unsafe in front of everyone.”

Bradley stopped like he had been hit again.

Jake looked wrecked saying it, but he did not take it back. “We both did this. So you can fight me later, or you can help me find her now.”

For a few seconds, they just stared at each other, both breathing hard, both afraid enough to be dangerous. Then Phoenix stepped between them again, but this time her voice was quieter.

“Go,” she said. “Both of you. I’ll send everyone else in pairs. Nobody goes alone, nobody corners her if they find her, and nobody makes this about their guilt when she’s the one missing.”

That shut them up.

Bradley and Jake left in separate vehicles at first because neither trusted himself in the same car. Bradley checked the beach, the corner shop, the little path behind the dunes, the car park where you sometimes sat when you needed quiet. Jake checked the old streets near base, the bus stop by the pharmacy, the petrol station, the parking lot behind the closed diner where he had once found you after a nightmare because you said the neon made the dark feel less deep.

They called your name into places you were not.

Midnight came and went.

Then one.

Then two.

The party had become a search by then. Phoenix kept a list. Coyote drove with Fanboy. Payback and Bob checked hospitals and late-night shops. Maverick was called, and his voice on speaker was calm in a way that made Bradley want to throw the phone across the room.

“Think like her,” Maverick said. “Not like you.”

Bradley stood in his empty kitchen with your phone in his hand and did not know how to answer that. He thought he knew you. He knew your coffee order and the way you liked the blankets folded on the sofa. He knew you hated being asked if you were okay in front of people. He knew you could not sleep with the bedroom door fully shut. But he had not known you were in love with Jake. He had not known you were afraid to tell him. He had not known that one wrong sentence from him could make you disappear.

Jake stood by the back door, soaked from checking the yard again though there was no reason to think you had doubled back. He looked at your phone in Bradley’s hand, then away.

“She texted me earlier,” Jake said quietly.

Bradley’s grip tightened around the phone.

“I’m not saying it to rub it in,” Jake added, voice rough. “I’m saying if you open it, there might be something useful.”

Bradley looked at him. For a second, the old anger tried to flare again. Then he saw Jake’s face, the fear sitting there too openly for pride to cover. Bradley unlocked your phone because he knew your passcode. He hated that he knew it and Jake probably did too.

The last message from Jake was still open.

I’ll come over after everyone leaves. Miss you.

Your reply sat underneath it.

I miss you too. I hate hiding this.

Bradley stared at the words until they blurred.

Jake looked away first.

Bradley set the phone down carefully. “We keep looking.”

They went together after that.

Not because things were fixed. Nothing was fixed. They went together because Jake knew places Bradley did not, and Bradley knew you in ways Jake could only guess at, and neither man could survive wasting another hour protecting his pride. The Bronco smelled like rain and old coffee. Bradley drove, jaw clenched, eyes moving over every pavement. Jake sat beside him with his phone in his hand, calling hospitals again, then Phoenix, then Coyote, then nobody because there were no new answers and his voice had started to break.

Around four in the morning, the rain started.

At first it was light, a fine mist against the windscreen. Then it came harder, turning the roads silver and emptying the streets of everyone except them. Bradley pulled over twice because he thought he saw you. Once it was a woman carrying a shopping bag with her hood up. The second time it was nobody, just a dark post box under a streetlight that his tired mind had shaped into your shoulders.

Jake got out anyway both times.

He came back drenched and silent.

By dawn, Bradley looked like a man who had aged overnight. Jake did not look much better. They pulled into a beach car park because they had run out of roads and sat there with the engine running, rain beating against the roof. Neither of them spoke for a long time.

Bradley broke first. “If something happened to her because of this...”

“Don’t,” Jake said.

“I made her run.”

Jake’s voice was flat with exhaustion. “I said don’t.”

Bradley looked at him. “You don’t get to tell me not to feel guilty.”

“I’m not. I’m telling you if you say the worst thing out loud right now, I’m going to lose what little grip I have left.”

Bradley looked away.

That was fair.

Jake stared through the windscreen, eyes red, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white. “She walked out because we were both too busy trying to win the fight. That’s the truth. We can hate ourselves later.”

Bradley swallowed, throat raw.

His phone rang.

Both of them froze.

Maverick’s name lit the screen.

Bradley answered so fast he nearly dropped it. “Mav?”

“She’s here.”

For one second, Bradley could not understand the words. Jake turned toward him, already pale, already braced for the worst.

Maverick repeated it, voice steady but thick around the edges. “She’s at my house. She’s alive. She’s soaked through and freezing, but she’s here. Penny’s got towels and tea. Call everyone off, then get over here.”

Bradley closed his eyes, and the sound he made barely counted as breathing.

Jake grabbed his arm. “She’s okay?”

Bradley nodded because he could not speak.

Jake dropped his head back against the seat and covered his face with one hand. His shoulders shook once, hard, before he got himself under control.

Maverick said, “Bradley, drive carefully.”

Bradley laughed once, broken and breathless. “Yeah.”

“I mean it,” Maverick said. “Both of you. She’s safe. Don’t turn yourselves into another problem getting here.”

Bradley looked at Jake.

Jake had already wiped his face with both hands and was reaching for his seatbelt.

“We’re coming,” Bradley said.

At Maverick’s house, you sat in the kitchen wrapped in two towels and one of Penny’s old jumpers, shivering so hard the mug in your hands kept ticking softly against the table. You had walked for hours without really meaning to. At first, it was just away. Away from the shouting, away from Bradley’s kitchen, away from Jake’s voice and Bradley’s voice tangling together until neither felt safe. Then the rain came, and you realised you had no phone, no money, no keys, and no clean way back.

You had ended up at Maverick’s because his porch light was on.

That was the whole reason, or the only one you could explain. His house was not Bradley’s, not Jake’s, not the Hard Deck full of people who would ask questions with their eyes. It was just a house where you knew someone would open the door and not shout.

Maverick had opened it at half six in the morning in sweatpants and an old Navy T-shirt. The second he saw you, drenched and shaking on his porch, his face had changed in a way that nearly made your knees go.

“Oh, kid,” he said.

You tried to apologise, but your teeth were chattering too hard to get the words out.

He did not ask questions then. He just got you inside.

Now he stood near the counter with his phone in his hand, watching you drink tea while pretending he was not watching your hands shake. Penny sat beside you, her palm resting lightly near your elbow.

“They’re on their way,” Maverick said after ending the call.

You looked up. “Both?”

“Yes.”

Your stomach tightened.

Maverick saw. “They’re not mad.”

“They should be.”

“No,” Penny said immediately.

You looked down into the mug. “I scared everyone.”

Maverick’s voice was firm. “You were scared first.”

That took the air out of you.

You blinked hard, but tears still slipped down your face. Penny reached over and took the mug before you could spill it.

A car came up the drive too fast, then stopped hard enough for gravel to spit under the tyres. Another engine followed right behind it. Your body went rigid before you could stop it, and Maverick moved toward the hall, but you stood too.

The front door opened.

Bradley came in first, soaked from the rain, hair flat, face grey with fear and no sleep. Jake was behind him, just as wet, one hand braced briefly on the door frame like he needed it to keep standing. Both of them stopped when they saw you.

For half a second, nobody moved.

Then Bradley crossed the hall and pulled you into his arms.

There was no hesitation. No anger. No careful speech prepared for the doorway. He just reached you and wrapped himself around you, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other locked across your shoulders like he could shelter you from the entire night if he held on tightly enough.

You froze at first because your body was still half back in the kitchen, still half listening for shouting. Bradley felt it immediately and loosened his grip.

“Is this okay?” he asked, voice wrecked.

You nodded into his chest.

He made a sound that was almost a sob and held you again, gentler this time but no less desperate. “I’m not mad,” he said quickly. “I’m not mad at you. I don’t care about anything except you being here.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“No. Not right now.”

“I didn’t mean to stay gone.”

“You’re here,” he said, and his voice broke on it. “That’s all. You’re here.”

Over his shoulder, you looked at Jake.

He had not moved closer. That hurt for one second, then you understood. He was waiting. Even after a night of searching, even with panic still written all over him, he was waiting for you to decide whether you wanted him near.

Your face crumpled.

“Jake.”

He crossed the space as soon as you said his name. Bradley did not let go completely, but he shifted, making room. Jake stopped close enough for you to reach him, and when you did, his hand covered yours with such care that fresh tears spilled down your face.

“I’m not mad either,” Jake said.

Your breath caught.

“I’m scared out of my mind,” he said, rough and honest. “But I’m not mad.”

You looked between them, both soaked, both exhausted, both looking at you like the whole world had narrowed to the fact you were standing in Maverick’s hallway in borrowed clothes.

“I left because you were yelling,” you said.

Bradley shut his eyes.

“I know.”

“I know you’re not him,” you said, voice shaking. “Both of you. I know that. But when it gets loud, I don’t always know it fast enough.”

Jake’s hand tightened around yours.

Bradley nodded, tears standing in his eyes now. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t want to choose between you.”

Bradley looked at Jake, then back at you. “You shouldn’t have had to.”

Jake nodded once. “That’s on us.”

Maverick appeared in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, expression stern enough to keep everyone from collapsing fully into the floor. “She needs dry clothes, food, and sleep. Whatever conversation the three of you are about to have can wait until she stops shivering.”

Penny added, “And until both of you change out of wet clothes before you drip all over my hallway.”

Jake let out a shaky breath that might have been a laugh if any of you had more left in you.

Bradley guided you back toward the kitchen with one arm still around you, and Jake stayed on your other side, not touching unless you reached for him. You did. Your fingers found his sleeve, and he looked down at your hand like it was the only good thing he had seen in twelve hours.

At the table, you sat between them with a blanket around your shoulders and a fresh mug of tea warming your hands. Bradley kept looking at you like he needed to keep confirming you were really there. Jake did the same, but quieter, his thumb brushing slowly over the back of your hand beneath the edge of the blanket.

Nobody asked where you had been yet.

Nobody asked why you did not call.

Nobody said you should have come back sooner, or scared them less, or handled it better. They were too relieved to mistake your return for a trial.

After a long silence, Bradley said, “The house is still yours.”

You looked at him.

His voice went rough. “Not because you tell me everything. Not because you make choices I understand. Not because you need me the way I think you should. It’s yours because I said it was, and I meant it. I made it feel conditional last night, and I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

Your throat closed.

Jake looked down at the table.

You turned slightly toward him. “And you can’t hide me anymore.”

His eyes lifted to yours immediately. “Never again.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.” He swallowed. “I should have told him. I should have taken the hit before it became yours to carry.”

Bradley’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Not yet. He was learning too, maybe. Learning that not every anger needed to be fed the second it opened its mouth.

You breathed out slowly, still shaking under the blanket. “I don’t want you two to fight.”

Bradley and Jake looked at each other.

There was still a whole war sitting between them. Six months of secrets. Bradley’s warning. Jake’s promise. You in the middle of it, cold and exhausted in Maverick’s kitchen because both of them had let fear speak too loudly.

Bradley looked back at you first. “Not like that again.”

Jake nodded. “Never like that again.”

It was not fixed.

Nothing that mattered ever fixed that quickly.

But Bradley’s knee pressed lightly against yours under the table, and Jake’s hand stayed wrapped around your fingers, and Maverick stood at the counter pretending not to watch all of it with red eyes of his own.

Outside, the rain softened against the windows.

You frowned at the rear-view mirror, fingers tightening slightly on the steering wheel. It could still be nothing. People lived down this way. People cut through the same side roads all the time. You told yourself that, but you still took the next left instead of your usual right.

The grey car followed.

Your stomach went cold, dropping in that uncomfortable way when your gut is telling you somethings wrong.

You drove a little slower, waiting to see if it would pass. It did not. It slowed with you, keeping a couple of car lengths back, close enough that you could see one headlight was duller than the other. You stared at it too long and your front wheel clipped the edge of a puddle, water hissing up under the car.

“Stop it,” you whispered to yourself, though your voice did not sound convincing. “You’re being stupid.”

You took the next turn without indicating until the last second.

The car took it too.

That was when the fear stopped being vague and became a solid thing in your chest. You were not on your normal route anymore. You were heading away from your house on purpose, down roads that looped through the edge of town, and the car was still behind you.

You reached for your phone with one hand, keeping your eyes flicking between the road and the mirror. Your fingers slipped once before you managed to tap Jake’s name.

He answered quickly. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You tried to sound calm. “Hi.”

There was a pause. Tiny. Barely there.

Jake caught it anyway, his voice taking an edge to it you hadn't heard before. “What’s wrong?”

You checked the mirror again. The grey car was still there. “I think someone’s following me.”

His voice changed immediately. Not loud. Not panicked. Worse than that. Controlled. “Where are you?”

“Near the old retail park. I left work and this car’s been behind me since the bypass. I thought it was nothing, but I’ve taken three turns and it’s still there.”

“Do not go home.”

His words sent a chill up your spine. “I’m not.”

“Good. Keep driving. Stay where there are lights and traffic. Do not pull over. Put me on speaker.”

You fumbled with the phone and dropped it onto the passenger seat. The sound of him breathing through the speaker made you feel slightly less alone, but only slightly. The car behind you crept closer as you passed a row of closed shops, its headlights filling your mirror.

“It’s getting closer,” you said, your tone taking on a nervous edge as the car weaved behind you slightly.

“I need you to stay calm.”

“I am calm.”

“No, you’re trying to sound calm. There’s a difference.”

Your mouth went dry, and for some stupid reason that nearly made you cry. “Jake.”

“I’m here. Listen to me. Take the next right.”

“That goes toward the industrial estate.”

“I know. There’s cameras. Wider roads. Take the right, then keep talking to me.”

You indicated, hands stiff on the wheel, and turned right. The road opened into a stretch with warehouses on one side and a fenced car lot on the other. Most of the units were shut for the night, but there were lights over the loading bays and cameras mounted high on the buildings.

The grey car turned after you.

You let out a breath that shook.

Jake heard it. “Still there?”

“Yes.”

“How close?”

“Two car lengths. Maybe less.”

“Can you see the plate?”

You looked, but the glare from the headlights made your eyes water. Even though one was dimmer thanbthe other. “No. It’s too bright.”

“Okay. Don’t try too hard. Watch the road.”

The car behind you flashed its lights.

You jerked so hard your hand slipped on the wheel. “It flashed me.”

“Keep driving.”

“It wants me to stop.”

“I don’t care what it wants. You keep driving.”

The car flashed again, longer this time, then moved slightly toward the centre of the road as if the driver was trying to see past you. There was no one else around now. Just your car, theirs, and the long wet stretch of road ahead.

Your voice cracked. “Jake, I don’t like this.”

“I know. You’re doing good. You’re going to take the next left, then straight over the mini roundabout.”

“Where are you?”

“Coming to you.”

That should have made you feel better. It did, in a way, but it also made the fear sharper because Jake sounded too focused, too clipped, like he was moving fast and forcing himself not to sound it.

The car behind you edged closer again. You could not see the bonnet anymore, only headlights. Bright. Hard. Too near.

“It’s right behind me,” you said.

“Do not speed up too much. Keep control of the car.”

“It’s going to hit me.”

“It isn’t. Breathe and keep your hands steady.”

You tried. You really did. Your fingers hurt from gripping the wheel. You took the left turn too wide and corrected quickly, tyres hissing over wet paint. The grey car followed tight enough that, for one awful second, you thought it was going to clip the back of you.

A horn blared behind you.

You flinched. “It’s beeping at me.”

“I heard.”

“He’s angry.”

“Let him be angry.”

You almost laughed, but it came out broken and breathless. You crossed the mini roundabout, ignoring the turn that would have taken you back toward home. Your house was close now, close enough that every instinct in you wanted to go there, lock the door, shut the curtains, pretend this was not happening.

Jake’s voice cut through before you could even think about turning. “Do not take the home road.”

“I wasn’t.” The pitch of your voice gave away that it definitely thinking about it.

“You thought about it.”

“How did you know I was thinking that?”

“You’re not leading him there.”

The grey car pulled out slightly, then dropped back in, aggressive and sudden. Your heart kicked hard. It felt like being herded. Every time you moved, they moved. Every time you tried to create distance, they ate it up again.

“Jake,” you said, and this time you did not bother pretending you were calm. “He’s not just following me. He’s trying to scare me.”

“I know. You can do this, I'm not far.”

“How far are you?”

“Close. Keep going straight at the next junction.”

“What?”

“Straight on. Do not slow down unless there’s traffic.”

You stared through the windscreen, rain ticking across the glass. Up ahead, the road met another at a staggered junction. There was a small turning on the right, the kind people used to cut through from the other side of town. For a second, you saw nothing except wet tarmac and streetlights.

Then Jake’s truck appeared at the mouth of the side road.

Your breath caught.

He was waiting there, angled slightly toward the road, headlights on, indicator ticking. He did not pull out in front of you. He stayed exactly where he was and let you pass. You saw the shape of him through the driver’s window as you went by, one hand on the wheel, head turned toward the grey car behind you.

“Keep driving,” he said through the speaker.

You forced your foot to stay steady.

The second your car cleared the middle of the junction, Jake moved.

He pulled out hard into the space behind you before the grey car could close it. It was clean and fast, close enough to make the other driver brake and swerve, but not close enough to touch. His truck filled your mirror all at once, black paint and bright headlights sliding between you and the car that had been riding your bumper for the last ten minutes.

A sound left you before you could stop it, half sob and half breath. “Thank you.”

“I’m here, breathe.”

You took a slow deep shaky inhale, a nauseating sense of relief washed over you. This wasn't over. But you weren't alone anymore.

The grey car tried to edge right, like it wanted to look around him or get past.

Jake moved right.

The grey car dropped left.

Jake dropped left too.

Not wild. Not reckless. Just enough. Every time the driver tried to find a way around him, Jake closed it without touching them, keeping his truck planted between your back bumper and theirs.

“Where do I go?” you asked.

“Petrol station ahead. Pull in and park right in front of the shop.”

“What about you?”

“I’m right behind you, I'm not going anywhere.”

The grey car flashed its lights at Jake.

Jake did not move.

The horn sounded again, longer this time. Angry. Petulant. It made your skin crawl. Jake stayed exactly where he was, forcing them to sit back while you indicated into the petrol station.

You pulled in too quickly and had to brake hard near the pumps. A man filling a van looked up. Someone inside the shop turned their head. The normalness of it all felt unreal. Bright shelves. Fuel prices. Wet concrete.

Jake pulled in behind you, stopping at an angle that blocked your car from the road.

The grey car slowed at the entrance, and for a second, it looked like it might turn in after you.

Jake’s truck door opened.

He was out before the grey car made up its mind.

“Jake,” you said, but your phone was still on the passenger seat and he was already moving.

He did not run. That somehow made it worse. He walked straight toward the entrance of the petrol station, rain hitting his shoulders, eyes fixed on the driver. He looked calm from a distance, but you knew him well enough to see the set of his jaw, the way his hands were loose at his sides because he was making them stay that way.

The grey car rolled another foot forward.

Jake kept walking.

No shouting. No waving. No stupid show. Just Jake crossing the wet concrete toward the car that had followed you, close enough now that the driver had to see his face under the petrol station lights.

The grey car stopped.

Jake did not.

He lifted his phone as he walked, holding it up toward the windscreen. Recording. Getting the plate. Getting the driver. Getting everything.

The grey car suddenly changed gear and reversed.

The tyres bumped over the edge of the forecourt entrance. The driver swung the wheel too sharply, the back end twitching before the car straightened out onto the road. Then it sped away into the rain.

Jake stopped at the edge of the forecourt and watched it go. He kept his phone up until the taillights disappeared.

Only then did he turn back to you.

You tried to undo your seatbelt before he reached you. Your fingers would not work. They slipped off the button once, twice, then you gave up and pressed both hands against your face because your breathing had started to come apart.

Your door opened.

Rain blew in with him. Jake crouched beside you, one hand braced on the roof, the other reaching carefully for the seatbelt.

“Look at me,” he said.

“I can’t get it off.”

“I know. I’ve got it.”

He pressed the release, and the belt snapped back. You flinched at the sound, and his jaw tightened, but his hand stayed careful when he reached for yours.

“You’re okay,” he said. “You did everything right.”

“It followed me all the way from work.”

“I know.”

“I thought I was being stupid.”

“You weren’t.”

Your face crumpled before you could stop it. Jake leaned in, blocking the rain and the sight of the road and everything beyond the open door. He took your hands off the wheel, one at a time, because you had not realised you were still gripping it.

“Come here,” he said.

“I can’t stand up.”

“Then I’ll help you.”

He got one arm around your back and helped you out of the car. Your legs nearly folded the second your feet hit the ground. Jake caught you before it showed too much, pulling you into him with one hand firm between your shoulder blades and the other at the back of your head.

You grabbed his shirt and held on.

For a moment, there was only the sound of rain on the petrol station canopy, the low hum of engines, and Jake breathing hard against your hair.

“I got the plate,” he said quietly. “Dash cam got it too.”

You nodded against him, though you were not sure you understood properly yet.

His arm tightened.

“You called me,” he said, voice rough now. “That’s what matters.”

For half a second, Jake’s face gave you nothing. Not surprise. Not anger. Not even confusion. Then his mouth twitched into a smile that was too easy to be real.

“Well,” he said, dropping his keys into the bowl by the door. “Didn’t know we had company.”

You wiped your hands on a tea towel, moving to the bin to discard the pepper waste. “Jake, this is Adam.”

Adam straightened beside you. He had been fine all evening. Normal. Funny enough. Nice enough. He had brought wine and offered to help cook instead of sitting on the sofa while you did it all. You had thought, stupidly, that maybe it would be simple. Dinner, a drink, a bit of flirting, something that had nothing to do with Jake Seresin and the spare room and the way he looked at you too long when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

Adam’s smile went stiff the second he saw Jake.

“The roommate,” he said.

Jake’s brows lifted. “That what she called me?”

You turned your head slowly. “Jake.”

He looked at you, all innocence. “What? I’m asking.”

Adam gave a short laugh, but there was no humour in it. His eyes moved over Jake, taking in the uniform, the broad shoulders, the ease of him standing there like he owned the room because, technically, he did. “She said she was staying with a friend.”

“Did she?” Jake asked, walking into the kitchen.

You watched him move to the fridge like he had not just walked into the middle of something and started pulling wires loose for fun. He opened it, leaned in, and took his time picking up a bottle of water. The kitchen was not big enough for the three of you, not with Jake standing there in his boots, smelling faintly of jet fuel and soap, taking up all the air.

Adam shifted beside you. “I didn’t realise the friend was a guy.”

Jake shut the fridge, opening the bottle of milk and taking a swig. “That a problem?”

“No,” Adam said quickly.

He put the milk back into the fridge, looking at Adam, he narrowed his eyes a little. “Sounded like it might be.”

You set the knife down harder than you meant to. “Hey Adam, would you mind if i added a bit of chilli to this? Think it could use a bit of a kick.”

Jake grabbed his water from the kitchen side, eyes still on Adam over the bottle.

“No problem. Just a surprise.” Adam’s jaw tightened, then looked over to you. "Go for it."

“Life’s full of those.”

You stared at Jake, warning him with your eyes because you knew that tone. You had heard him use it at the Hard Deck when some drunk guy got too close to you, all lazy words and sharp edges. He was smiling, which made it worse, because Adam did not know him well enough to understand the smile was not friendly.

Jake leaned against the counter opposite you. “So, Adam. What do you do?”

Adam glanced at you, then back at Jake. “I’m in property management.”

“Good money in that?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Jake,” you said again, lower this time.

He looked at you. “Just making conversation.”

“No, you’re not.”

Adam’s laugh came out awkward. “It’s fine.”

“It’s really not,” you said, because you could feel it happening. You could feel Jake making the room smaller, bit by bit, the worst part was how calm he was. Jake wasn’t raising his voice. He wasn’t being obviously rude. He was doing that thing men like him did when they wanted someone gone without dirtying their hands.

Jake looked at the pan on the hob. “What are we making?”

“We are making nothing,” you said. “Adam and I are making fajitas.”

His mouth curved. “Cute.”

Adam stopped stirring the onions. “Sorry, is this a bad time?”

“No,” you said immediately.

“Not at all,” Jake added. “I always come home around now.”

You shot him a look. “You said you were going to be out with Coyote.”

“Plans changed.”

“You didn’t text.”

“Didn’t realise I needed clearance.”

Adam put the spoon down. The sound was small, but it cut through the kitchen. “Maybe I should go.”

You turned to him. “No, you don’t have to go.”

Jake stayed where he was. Quiet. Watching.

Adam looked between you, and whatever he saw there made his expression harden. “Are you two together?”

“No,” you said.

Jake said nothing.

That silence did more damage than any answer could have.

You felt heat climb into your face. “We're not, Jake don't do this.”

He lifted one shoulder. “You answered.”

Adam stared at him. “You got something you want to say?”

Jake gave him a pleasant smile. “In my own kitchen? Usually.”

You stepped between them before you had fully decided to move. “Enough.”

Jake’s eyes flicked to you, then dropped to where you had put yourself in front of Adam. Something changed in his face. It was quick, but you caught it. The smile thinned. His hand tightened around the water bottle.

Adam noticed it too, because he gave a bitter little laugh. “Right. I get it.”

“There’s nothing to get,” you said, but even you didn’t believe it anymore.

Adam grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair roughly. “You know, you could’ve just told me.”

“Told you what?”

“That you’re living with your boyfriend.”

“Wait- he is not my boyfriend.” You stepped towards Adam and he gave you a sly look.

Jake’s voice came from behind you, low and clean. “Careful.”

You spun on him. “Do not.”

Adam shook his head and moved around you toward the hall. “This is weird.”

Jake nodded once. “First smart thing you’ve said.”

“Jake, shut up.”

Adam opened the front door. He looked back at you, not angry exactly, but embarrassed, and somehow that made you feel worse. “Good luck with whatever this is.”

The door shut behind him.

For a few seconds, the house was horribly quiet. The onions hissed in the pan. The extractor fan hummed overhead. Jake stayed in the kitchen, still holding the water bottle he had never actually wanted, and you stood there with your hands curled at your sides, trying to work out whether you were more angry or humiliated.

Then Jake said, “He seemed nice.”

You turned slowly.

His face shifted when he saw yours. The next joke died before it properly reached his mouth.

“What. The hell. Was that?” you asked.

He set the bottle down. “I don't like him.”

“You knew him for four minutes.”

“Didn’t need longer.”

“You interrogated him.”

“I asked him what he did.”

“You asked if there was good money in it like you were about to check his bank statements.”

Jake rubbed a hand over his jaw and looked away. “He got funny the second he saw me.”

“Because you made it awkward.”

“No,” Jake said, looking back at you. “He got funny because he didn’t like finding out you lived with me.”

“And you loved that, didn’t you?”

His expression tightened.

You stepped closer, anger pushing you forward because if you stopped moving you were going to feel how much it hurt. “You stood there and wound him up until he left.”

“He was looking at you like you’d lied to him.”

“I hadn’t.”

“He thought you had.”

“So what? That was mine to deal with. Not yours.”

Jake’s mouth opened, then shut again, he seemed to have no clever answer ready.

You laughed once, sharp and humourless, and turned back to the hob because the onions were starting to catch. You turned the heat off with a hard twist of your wrist. “You told me not to be weird. Mav told you not to be weird”

Jake went still behind you.

You kept your back to him because looking at him was suddenly too much. “That first night. You said the room was mine, no big deal, don’t be weird. So I didn’t. I tried really hard not to, actually.”

He said your name quietly.

“No. Don’t do that.” You gripped the edge of the counter. “Don’t use that voice now. You don’t get to make this feel like I’ve done something wrong.”

“I don’t think you did anything wrong.”

“Then why did you act like that?”

He didn’t answer fast enough.

You turned around. Jake was standing near the fridge now, both hands braced on his hips, looking at the floor like it had personally betrayed him. His jaw worked once.

“Jake.”

“I came home and he was here,” he said.

“Yes. Because I invited him.”

“I know.”

“It’s my home too. You said that.”

“I know.”

“Then what is your problem?”

His eyes lifted to yours. “He was standing in my kitchen with you.”

You stared at him. “Your kitchen?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It is quite literally what you just said.”

Jake exhaled hard and looked away again, and you hated how much you noticed the tiredness in him. The crease between his brows. The way his shoulders had dropped now Adam was gone, like all the fight had left with him and only the damage was still standing there between you.

You folded your arms. “You don’t get to do this.”

“I know.”

“No, I really don’t think you do.” Your voice cracked slightly, and that made you angrier. “You don’t get to tell me this is nothing, then act like that when I try to have something that isn’t you.”

His face changed.

There it was.

Not the smugness. Not the Hangman grin. Something worse. Something bare.

“I didn’t think I’d care,” he said.

You swallowed. “Well, clearly you did.”

“Yeah.”

“And you made it my problem.”

He nodded once, slow. “Yeah.”

That should have helped. It didn’t. His honesty landed too late, after the door had shut and the dinner had started burning and you had been made to feel like a fool in the middle of the kitchen you had started to feel at home in.

You rubbed at your forehead. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?”

Jake’s voice dropped. “I’m sorry.”

You looked at him then, properly. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Because you’re sorry you hurt me, or because he left and now you don’t have to watch it anymore?”

He flinched. Just a little. Enough.

You breathed out, unsteady. “Right.”

“No,” he said quickly, taking a step toward you. “No, that’s not fair.”

“Neither was that.”

He stopped.

The silence stretched. You could hear a car go past outside. Somewhere down the hall, the washing machine clicked as it finished its cycle. Stupid, normal sounds in the middle of something that felt anything but normal.

Jake dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

You waited.

“And,” he added, like the word cost him something, “I’m sorry he left because I wanted him to.”

Your chest tightened.

At least he had the decency to look ashamed.

You leaned back against the counter, suddenly tired. “Why?”

Jake looked at you like the answer was sitting right there between you, obvious and ugly.

“Don’t,” you said. “Do not make me guess.”

His throat moved. “Because I hated seeing him here.”

“That’s not enough.”

“I hated seeing him with you.”

You stared at him, and all the anger in you shifted shape. It didn’t vanish. It just found something softer underneath, which was worse because soft things bruised easier.

Jake stepped closer, slower this time. “I know I don’t have a right to say that.”

“No, you don’t, we all agreed not to be weird. I don't know, maybe we both just got too comfortable in our routine. Y'know? We always eat dinner together, we have more movie nights than I ever used to have at home. But you have to be honest with yourself, and me.”

“I know.”

“And then I brought someone home and you acted like a jealous boyfriend.”

Jake’s eyes held yours. “I know.”

Your laugh came out small and disbelieving. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“No.” He rubbed both hands over his face, then dropped them. “I’ve got a lot more. Most of it makes me sound like an idiot.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

That almost got a smile out of him. Almost. Instead he looked at you for a long moment, and when he spoke again, the cockiness was gone.

“I got used to you being here,” he said. “That’s the problem.”

Your mouth went dry.

Jake glanced around the kitchen, like the evidence was everywhere. Your mug by the sink. Your jumper over the chair. The little list stuck to the fridge in your handwriting because he always forgot washing tablets. “I got used to coming home and finding you on the sofa. I got used to you stealing the good blanket. I got used to you yelling at me when I leave plates in the sink. I love our evenings, I got used to all of it, and I told myself it was fine because you were just staying here.”

You didn’t move.

“Then I walked in and saw him standing where I usually stand,” Jake said. “Cooking with you. Making you laugh. Touching your back like he had any idea who you are, and I just…”

“You what?”

His jaw tightened. “I acted like an ass.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

You looked down at your hands. They were still faintly damp from washing peppers. You rubbed your thumb over your palm, needing something to do. “You made me feel stupid.”

Jake’s face fell.

“That’s the part I’m angry about,” you said, quieter now. “Not that you were jealous. Not even that you didn’t like him. You made me feel stupid for trying to act like this was normal.”

“It isn’t,” he said.

Your eyes snapped up.

He held your gaze. “This isn’t normal.”

You hated the way your heart kicked at that. Hated him a little for saying it now, after weeks of pretending the opposite.

“Don’t say that because someone else came over.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You shook your head. “No. You don’t get to do this tonight.”

Jake’s expression pinched, but he nodded. “Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“I heard you.”

“You don’t get to ruin my date, admit you’re jealous, and expect me to just stand here and make you feel better about it.”

“I don’t.”

You watched him, wary, because he sounded like he meant it. Jake Seresin, who usually fought every corner until there was nothing left but scorch marks, stood in front of you and took it.

That made it harder to stay sharp.

You looked at the pan on the hob. “Dinner’s ruined.”

Jake glanced at it. “I’ll clean it up and I'll order us a pizza?”

“I wasn’t asking you to, I can do it later and I'm not hungry.”

You hated that too, the carefulness. The way he was suddenly trying not to touch anything that might set you off. It was deserved, probably, but it still made the house feel wrong.

You moved past him toward the hall.

Jake didn’t stop you.

At the doorway, you paused. You didn’t look back, but you could feel him behind you, still in the kitchen, still exactly where you had left him.

“You made it weird,” you said.

Jake was quiet for a second.

Then he said, “Yeah. I did.”

You went to your room and shut the door, not hard enough to be dramatic, but hard enough that he heard it.

On the other side, Jake stayed in the kitchen.

***

A pause. Then a slow, measured voice crackled through.

“She screamed your name.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, metal fingers curling around the phone like a vice.

“You’ve got one chance to end this without a body count,” he growled.

The man on the other end chuckled, low and bitter. “No, Sergeant. You have one chance. You were hired to protect her. But you can’t be everywhere, can you?”

Bucky stayed silent, eyes scanning the empty alley like answers might carve themselves into the brick.

“You want her back?” the voice taunted. “You’ll bring what I want. Alone. No backup. No trackers. No tricks."

“What do you want?”

Another pause, this one heavier. Then—

“You know what I want. You’ve always known. She’s just leverage.

Bucky’s blood ran cold. This wasn’t just some obsessed stalker. This was personal.

“I swear to God,” he said, voice low and deadly, “if you touch her—"

“She’s still breathing. For now. But tick-tock, Soldier. Make me wait, and I might just send you what’s left of her.”

The line went dead.

Bucky stood there for a long moment, the phone still pressed to his ear, rage simmering beneath the surface like a storm ready to break.

You trusted him to protect you.

The house was nicer than you expected. Not flashy, but clean, with a small front porch, neat grass, and a truck in the driveway that looked like it had been washed that morning. You dragged your suitcase up the path, phone in one hand with the door code Maverick had sent you.

He’d added one final message beneath it.

Don’t let him wind you up.

That was not reassuring.

You punched in the code, waited for the lock to click, then pushed the door open. “Hello?”

No answer.

You stepped inside carefully, pulling your suitcase over the threshold before shutting the door behind you. The house smelled faintly of clean laundry and coffee. There were boots by the door, a set of keys in a ceramic bowl, and a sweatshirt thrown over the back of the sofa. Someone definitely lived here.

You called out again. “Hello? It’s me. Well, not me. You don’t know me. It’s Maverick’s niece.”

Still nothing.

You stood there for a second, feeling very aware that you were in a stranger’s house with a suitcase and no plan beyond try not to look weird. You were about to text Maverick when you heard movement upstairs.

A door opened.

Footsteps crossed the landing.

You looked up just as Jake Seresin appeared at the top of the stairs, shirt half on, hair damp, one arm still shoved through a sleeve while the other side hung loose. He froze when he saw you.

You froze too.

For a few seconds, neither of you said anything.

Jake looked down at himself, then back at you. “You lost?”

You blinked, then held up your phone like it was evidence. “Unfortunately, I think I live here.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Do you?”

“I bloody hope so, because if not, your security is terrible.”

That got the corner of his mouth to twitch. He pulled his shirt on the rest of the way, taking his time because of course he did. “You Maverick’s niece?”

You tried not to look embarrassed and failed. “And you must be the spare room.”

Jake came down the stairs with the kind of confidence that made it very clear he was used to people looking at him when he entered a room. “Hangman.”

“Your actual name, ideally.”

“Jake.”

“I know.”

“Then why ask?”

“Because calling my new landlord Hangman feels like a mistake.”

He stopped a few feet away from you, close enough that you could see he hadn’t shaved properly and there was a faint crease on one cheek from sleep. He looked like he had been woken up, which made you feel worse. He also looked amused, which made you feel annoyed.

“Mav said you weren’t arriving until six,” he said.

You checked the time on your phone. “It’s half five.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m early, not breaking in.”

“You used the code.”

“That he gave me.”

Jake folded his arms, leaning back against the bottom of the stair rail. “Did he also tell you to just walk in?”

You hesitated.

He smiled.

You narrowed your eyes. “He said you were expecting me.”

“I was. Just not while I was getting changed.”

You felt your face warm despite yourself. “I didn’t see anything.”

“You hesitated before saying that.”

“I was being polite.”

“You were staring.”

“I was shocked.”

“By the house or by me?”

You stared at him for a second. “You always like this?”

Jake’s smile widened. “Usually worse.”

You could see why Maverick had told you not to let him wind you up. The man was clearly built for it. He looked relaxed in a way that felt deliberate, like every part of him had decided there was nothing in the world worth getting flustered over. You, meanwhile, were stood in the hallway with your suitcase still upright beside you, suddenly very aware that you were tired, hungry, and not in the mood to be charming for a stranger with wet hair and a good jaw.

You picked up the handle of your suitcase. “Can you just show me the room?”

That seemed to knock the grin down a little. Not gone, but quieter. “Yeah. Come on.”

He took the suitcase before you could argue, lifting it easily and heading up the stairs. You followed, trying not to stare at his shoulders. That lasted about three steps before you caught yourself doing exactly that and looked sharply at the wall instead.

Jake glanced back. “Careful, there’s a step.”

“I can see the stairs.”

“Just being helpful.”

“You’re being irritating.”

“Same skill set.”

Your room was at the end of the hallway. It was plain, but clean. Double bed, empty wardrobe, small desk near the window, and a set of towels folded at the end of the mattress. Someone had cleared space properly, not just shoved things into corners and called it done.

Jake put your suitcase by the wardrobe. “Bathroom’s across the hall. I’ve got the room at the other end. Kitchen’s downstairs. Use whatever, just write it on the list if you finish it.”

You looked at him. “There’s a list?”

“On the fridge.”

“Very organised.”

“I’m a delight.”

You gave him a flat look.

He nodded toward the desk. “Wi-Fi password’s written down there. Spare key’s in the top drawer. If you’re out late, lock the door behind you. If you’re bringing anyone back, don’t.”

You laughed once. “Excuse me?”

Jake shrugged. “House rule.”

“Bit controlling for someone I met three minutes ago.”

“It’s not a moral judgement. I don’t want strangers in my house.”

“I’m a stranger in your house.”

“You’re Maverick’s problem. Slight difference.”

Your mouth opened, then closed again. “I’m not his problem.”

Jake’s expression shifted.

It was tiny. Barely anything. But it was the first time he looked like he’d actually heard you instead of just enjoying the conversation.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said.

“Sure.”

“I didn’t.”

You looked away first, annoyed at yourself for reacting. It had been a long day. Longer than that, really. Weeks of trying to prove you deserved your place and not just your surname. You had heard every version of it already. Maverick’s niece. Mitchell’s girl. Nepo baby if someone was feeling brave after a drink. Most of them smiled when they said it. That didn’t make it better.

Jake was quiet for a second.

Then he said, “Mav told me you’re in final training.”

You nodded.

“That why you needed the room?”

“Yeah. I was commuting from the motel outside town and it was a nightmare. Base housing is full, and apparently your spare room was available.”

“It was.”

“You sure? You seem thrilled.”

He gave a small laugh. “Mav said you were quieter.”

“I am. Usually.”

“You walked into my house and insulted my security.”

“You came downstairs half-naked and accused me of being lost.”

“Half-naked is generous.”

You looked at him before you could stop yourself.

Jake noticed.

Of course he did.

He smiled slowly, and you immediately regretted everything.

You pointed toward the door. “You can go now.”

“Yeah, probably should.”

He didn’t move right away. For the first time since you’d stepped inside, he looked a little less like Hangman and a little more like someone trying to work out what kind of person had just been dropped into his spare room by his commanding officer.

“I’ll let you unpack,” he said. “Mav’s coming by later?”

You frowned. “Is he?”

“He said he might.”

“That means he will.”

Jake nodded like he already knew that. “He also told me not to be weird.”

You stared at him.

His face stayed completely serious for about two seconds before he cracked.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed, short and reluctant. “He actually said that?”

“Several times.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“You heard the man.”

Jake leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. “For the record, I’m extremely normal.”

“You introduced yourself by callsign.”

“That’s normal here.”

“You asked if I was lost in a house I had a key code for.”

“You looked lost.”

“I was being polite.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep being difficult.”

Jake smiled again, but there was less bite to it this time. “You’ll fit in fine.”

You didn’t know why that made your chest loosen a little. It shouldn’t have. It was barely anything. But there was no edge to it, no little dig about who you were related to, no suggestion that you were only here because Maverick had pulled strings.

You looked down at your suitcase. “We’ll see.”

Jake pushed off the doorframe. “Dinner’s at seven if you want some. I was making enough anyway.”

You looked up. “You cook?”

“Try not to sound so shocked.”

“I’m just surprised there’s more to you than standing on stairs making people uncomfortable.”

“That was a one-time welcome package.”

“Lucky me.”

He stepped back into the hall. “Seven. No pressure.”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

He was almost gone when you remembered something. “Jake?”

He turned back.

“I really wasn’t staring.”

He looked at you for a moment, then smiled like he absolutely did not believe you. “Sure.”

You shut the door before he could say anything else.

For the first time all day, you leaned back against something solid and laughed properly.

Only once.

Then you looked around the room, at the empty drawers, the folded towels, the sunlight coming in through the blinds, and let yourself breathe. It was temporary. That was all. A room for a few weeks. A place to sleep, eat, train, and keep your head down until you passed.

You could do temporary.

You were good at temporary.

Downstairs, something clattered in the kitchen, followed by Jake swearing under his breath. You smiled before you could stop yourself, then pushed away from the door and started unpacking.

By the time Maverick arrived just after seven, you had managed to get most of your clothes into the wardrobe and had changed into jeans and a T-shirt. You came downstairs to find him in the kitchen with Jake, both of them standing at opposite sides of the counter like they had been caught mid-argument.

Maverick looked over as soon as you walked in. “You settled?”

“Mostly.”

“Room okay?”

“It’s good.”

Jake leaned against the counter, arms folded. “Don’t sound too pleased. I’ll get emotional.”

You ignored him and looked at Maverick. “You told him not to be weird?”

Maverick winced slightly. “He told you that?”

“Immediately.”

“Of course he did.” Maverick turned to Jake. “I said one thing.”

“You said it four times,” Jake replied.

“Because I know you.”

Jake looked offended. “That hurts.”

“Good.”

You tried to hide your smile and failed. Maverick caught it, and something in his face softened a little. He had been hovering since you got assigned to the final training phase, careful not to push too much and bad at hiding when he wanted to. It was sweet. It was also suffocating.

You liked Maverick. You loved him, really. He was the only reason you had kept going some days. But being his niece on base came with a weight you hadn’t expected, and neither of you had quite worked out how to talk about it without arguing.

Jake slid a plate toward you. “Eat.”

You looked down at it. Chicken, rice, vegetables. Not fancy, but it smelled good.

“You cook like this for all your tenants?” you asked.

“Only the ones who break in before six.”

“I had the code.”

“You keep saying that like it helps your case.”

Maverick looked between you both. “You two already start?”

“She accused me of being half-naked,” Jake said.

Your eyes went wide. “I did not.”

Maverick closed his eyes. “Seresin.”

Jake pointed at you. “She said it first.”

You pointed back. “Because you were.”

“I had shorts on.”

“Bare minimum.”

Maverick pushed away from the counter. “I’m leaving.”

You laughed. “You just got here.”

“And somehow I already regret all of this.” He kissed the side of your head as he passed, quick enough that you couldn’t dodge it. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

You gave him a look.

He held his hands up. “I know.”

Jake watched the exchange quietly. You noticed because he was rarely quiet for long. Maverick stopped at the door, then looked back at him.

“Take care of her,” he said.

Your stomach tightened.

“Uncle Pete.”

“I mean the house,” he added too quickly. “Make sure she knows where things are.”

Jake’s face didn’t change, but you could tell he understood what Maverick had really meant. “She’s got it.”

Maverick nodded once, then left.

The door shut behind him.

You stared at your plate for a second, appetite fading a little.

Jake noticed. “He worries.”

“I know.”

“Does he always do the hovering thing?”

“He thinks he’s subtle.”

“He’s not.”

“No.”

You sat at the counter and picked up your fork. Jake stayed on the other side, eating standing up like he didn’t fully believe in chairs.

You ate a few bites in silence before he said, “For what it’s worth, I know you’re not here because of him.”

You paused.

Jake didn’t look at you, which somehow made it easier. He kept his attention on his plate as he spoke.

“Mav asked about the room because he’s your uncle. He didn’t get you through training. He didn’t sit your exams. He didn’t land anything for you. If you’re here, you earned it.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat with a mouthful of rice and nearly choked. Very graceful. Really impressive start to cohabiting with someone who looked like that.

Jake looked up. “You good?”

“Fine.”

“You sure?”

“Rice betrayed me.”

He huffed a laugh and slid his water across the counter toward you. You took it without thinking, drank half of it, then realised what you’d done.

“Thanks,” you said.

“No problem.”

You expected him to make a joke. He didn’t.

That somehow annoyed you more than if he had.

You set the glass down. “I’m not fragile, by the way.”

Jake looked at you then. “Didn’t say you were.”

“People hear Maverick’s niece and decide I’m either spoiled or need protecting.”

“I don’t think you’re spoiled.”

You waited.

His mouth twitched. “Jury’s still out on protecting.”

You rolled your eyes. “Brilliant.”

“I’m joking.”

“No, you’re testing.”

That made him pause.

You set your fork down. “You want to know if I’ll bite.”

“And?”

“I will.”

Jake smiled a little. “Good to know.”

You shook your head, but you weren’t really angry. Not yet. He was a lot, and you knew that was probably intentional, but he didn’t feel cruel. He pushed, but he watched where things landed. You were used to people pushing and only caring if it got a laugh.

This was different.

You didn’t know whether that made it better or worse.

After dinner, Jake showed you where everything was. Laundry. Cleaning stuff. The spare key for the back door. Which cupboard stuck unless you lifted it slightly. He told you the shower ran cold if the dishwasher was on, then immediately admitted he only knew that because he had made the mistake twice.

You found yourself laughing more than you meant to.

It was annoying.

At half nine, you went upstairs with the excuse of an early start. That part was true. Training began at six, and you had a full day of checks, simulator hours, and one evaluation you were trying very hard not to think about.

You had just changed into sleep shorts and an old academy T-shirt when your phone buzzed.

Maverick.

All okay?

You typed back quickly.

Yes. Room is good. Jake is only moderately annoying.

The reply came back less than a minute later.

He’s on best behaviour then.

You smiled, plugged your phone in, and sat on the edge of the bed.

The house was quiet beneath you. Not silent. You could hear Jake moving around downstairs, rinsing dishes, shutting cupboards, something low playing from the living room TV. It should have felt strange to be in his house, listening to his life happening around you.

It did.

But not in a bad way.

You lay back and stared at the ceiling, telling yourself you would sleep soon. You didn’t. Your brain kept circling tomorrow, the evaluation, Maverick’s face when he tried not to look worried, the way Jake had said you earned it like it was a fact, not a favour.

After a while, there was a knock at your door.

You sat up. “Yeah?”

Jake opened it only an inch, keeping his eyes politely on the wall opposite. “You decent?”

“Enough.”

He looked in then, holding a mug. “Tea. Mav said you don’t sleep before evaluation days.”

You stared at him.

He lifted the mug slightly. “Unless that was classified niece information.”

You got up and took it from him. “He told you that?”

“He told me a lot of things I pretended not to listen to.”

You looked down at the tea. It was made exactly how you liked it.

Of course Maverick had told him that too.

“Thanks,” you said.

Jake nodded and stepped back. “Night.”

“Jake?”

He stopped.

You leaned one shoulder against the door. “You don’t have to report back to him.”

His expression softened slightly. “I know.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

You searched his face, trying to work out if he was just saying that because it was easier.

Jake seemed to read that too. “You’re my tenant, not my assignment.”

You let out a small breath. “Good.”

“And before you ask, no, I don’t normally make tea for tenants.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

“You were thinking it.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“Usually right.”

“Usually irritating.”

“There she is.”

The phrase made you pull a face before you could stop yourself. Jake caught it immediately.

“Not that?” he asked.

“Not that.”

“Noted.”

You blinked, surprised he’d accepted it so quickly.

He tapped the doorframe once with his knuckles. “See you in the morning.”

You nodded. “Night.”

He left, and you shut the door softly.

For a few seconds, you just stood there with the mug warming your hands.

You had expected awkward. You had expected cocky. You had expected to spend the next few weeks gritting your teeth and reminding yourself that cheap rent was worth a bit of discomfort.

You had not expected Jake Seresin to notice a flinch in your face and adjust without making a big thing of it.

That was inconvenient.

You got into bed and drank your tea while your phone sat quiet on the nightstand. Downstairs, the TV volume lowered. A door shut. The house settled.

Temporary, you reminded yourself.

Rivas was at the table.

You knew him instantly. Not from the file. Not from the photographs. From the way he sat there while everyone else panicked, one hand hidden below the table, his face calm like he had been expecting you.

Javi glanced back at you. “Which one?”

Your mouth opened.

Then Rivas moved his hand.

The blade caught the light first. A small thing. Not much bigger than the one you kept in your kitchen drawer at home. Then the tablecloth shifted, and you saw the child tucked under the table beside his leg, one hand pressed over his own mouth, eyes wide and wet. Rivas had the knife under the boy’s chin.

No one else could see it from the door.

Javi was still waiting.

You could feel the whole room pressing in on you. Carrillo’s men had rifles up. Steve was shouting for hands. One of Rivas’s men had already been shoved to his knees near the window. If you named Rivas now, he would cut the boy before anyone could get a clean shot.

Rivas looked at you and smiled.

“Which one?” Javi asked again, sharper this time.

You pointed at the man by the window.

“Him,” you said.

Javi went still.

It was small. Barely anything. His head turned a fraction, just enough that you knew he was looking at you properly now and not the room. He had watched you go through Rivas’s file for days. He knew you knew his face. He knew you had just lied.

The man near the window started shouting straight away, shaking his head as Carrillo’s men grabbed him. “No! No soy yo!”

“Him,” you repeated, louder.

Javi stepped closer to you, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You didn’t look at him. If you looked at him, he would see it. If he saw it, he would look for what you were looking at, and if Rivas saw that, the boy was dead.

“That’s him,” you said.

“You’re lying.”

The words hit worse than you expected.

Not because they were wrong. Because they were true, and because Javi said them like he had already decided why.

You kept your eyes on the wrong man while Carrillo forced him down. “I’m not.”

Javi grabbed your arm, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to stop you taking another step. “You look at me and say that.”

You couldn’t.

Rivas shifted in his chair. The boy made a tiny noise under the table, barely there, but it went through you like a hook.

You coughed to cover it and pulled your arm free from Javi’s hand. “He used another name before. But it’s him.”

Carrillo turned his head. “You’re certain?”

You felt Javi’s stare on the side of your face.

You nodded. “Yes.”

Rivas started to stand.

Your stomach dropped, but you forced yourself not to react. He kept one hand under the table as he rose, dragging the boy up just enough that the child had to move with him. The tablecloth hid most of it. A flash of bare knee. Small fingers gripping the chair leg. Not enough for the others. Enough for you.

You stepped forward.

Javi caught your vest this time. “Don’t.”

You still didn’t look at him. “I need to see his face.”

“His face is on the floor.”

“Let go of me.”

His grip tightened. “No.”

Rivas watched the two of you. He looked pleased now. That made you want to be sick. He knew exactly what the room looked like from the outside. He knew you looked unsure. He knew Javi had caught the lie before anyone else did. He knew he could use it.

“You brought a nervous one,” Rivas said in English, his accent soft and deliberate. “That is bad planning.”

Javi’s gun lifted slightly. “Sit down.”

Rivas did not sit.

You finally looked at Javi then, only for half a second. His face was tight with anger. Not loud anger. Worse. Controlled. The kind he used when he thought someone had sold him out and was waiting to see how much damage they had done.

You wanted to tell him.

You couldn’t.

Rivas started moving to the side, one step, then another, the boy hidden between his body and the table. You moved with him without thinking.

Javi’s hand clamped down on your vest again. “Back up.”

“Javi, move.”

“No.”

“You’re in my way.”

His jaw shifted. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”

That hurt. You didn’t have time to let it. Rivas pulled the boy out from under the table.

Everything stopped.

The child was small, smaller than you had thought, with a dirty shirt hanging off one shoulder and tear tracks cutting through the dust on his face. The knife was at his throat now, no hiding it. His little hands clutched at Rivas’s wrist, but he wasn’t strong enough to do anything except make Rivas smile wider.

Carrillo shouted for everyone to hold fire.

Javi turned back to the room, and you saw the exact second he understood.

His face changed.

Not much. Not for anyone else.

But you saw it.

The anger drained from the wrong places and came back worse somewhere else.

Rivas backed toward the hallway with the boy in front of him. “You have the wrong man,” he said, looking at you. “Tell them again.”

Your mouth was dry.

The boy was staring at you.

That was the worst part. Not Rivas. Not Javi. The boy. He looked at you like you were one of the grown-ups in the room who might know how to make this stop.

You lowered your gun slowly.

Javi saw. “No.”

You ignored him and took one step forward.

Rivas tilted the knife. “Stay there.”

“You want me,” you said.

Javi swore under his breath. “No, he doesn’t.”

Rivas’s eyes flicked to him. That was a mistake. Only a tiny one, but you saw it. He had noticed the way Javi’s voice changed when he spoke to you. He had noticed the way Javi kept moving when you moved, the way every inch of him was trying not to step in front of you.

You hated that.

“You named the wrong man,” Rivas said. “Maybe I should take you with me and ask why.”

Your fingers flexed once around your gun before you set it down on the table.

Javi’s voice went hard. “Pick it up.”

You didn’t.

The room seemed too hot. Your vest was digging into your ribs, and your heart was beating so hard you could feel it in your throat. You kept your eyes on the boy, because if you looked at Javi, you would lose the nerve.

“Let him go,” you said. “Take me instead.”

“No,” Javi said again. Louder this time.

Rivas laughed. “He does not like that.”

“Javi, shut up,” you snapped.

The words came out harsher than you meant. You saw him flinch with it, not physically, but in his face. Like you had slapped him in front of the whole room.

Good, you thought wildly. Be angry at me. Look angry. Don’t let him see scared.

Rivas moved the knife away from the boy’s throat for half a second, pointing it at you instead. “You have a mouth on you.”

You looked at the child. “When I move, run to the man in the green jacket.”

Carrillo heard you. His eyes didn’t leave Rivas, but his stance changed.

The boy shook his head.

“You can do it,” you said.

Rivas realised too late.

He started to pull the knife back.

You lunged forward and grabbed his wrist with both hands.

The room went loud again. The boy dropped and scrambled under the table toward Carrillo. Rivas slammed his elbow into your cheek hard enough to knock your head sideways, but you held on. The knife bit into your palm as you tried to keep it away from your face.

Someone shouted your name.

Javi.

You heard him before you saw him.

Rivas shoved you backward into the table. Your hip hit the edge, sharp and bright with pain. For one awful second, you were between Javi’s gun and Rivas’s chest. You knew it. Javi knew it. Rivas knew it too, because he grabbed the front of your vest and yanked you back against him.

The blade pressed under your jaw.

“Move and she dies,” Rivas said.

Javi stopped.

You had seen him angry before. You had seen him reckless, tired, furious enough to put his fist through a wall and call it nothing. You had never seen him look like that.

Still.

White around the mouth.

Gun raised, but not moving.

His eyes were on yours, not Rivas’s. That made it worse. He looked like he was trying to say something without opening his mouth, like there was too much in the room and all of it was pressing against his teeth.

Rivas tightened his grip. “Lower it.”

Javi didn’t.

“Javi,” you said.

His eyes flicked to the cut on your cheek, then to the knife under your chin.

“Don’t,” you said quietly.

His face tightened.

You knew he understood what you meant.

Don’t give him another hostage.

Don’t make yourself useful to him.

Don’t make this about me.

Rivas started pulling you back toward the hallway. Your boots dragged over broken glass. The knife stayed tight under your chin. You could feel warm blood running down your neck now, not a lot, but enough that Javi’s eyes caught on it and didn’t move for a second.

You moved your hand slowly, just enough for Javi to see.

Three fingers.

Then two.

He barely nodded.

You went dead weight without warning.

Rivas swore as your body dropped. The knife slipped. Javi fired once.

Rivas hit the wall behind him and went down.

You landed hard on your side, the breath knocked out of you. For a few seconds you couldn’t move. The room tilted. People rushed past. Someone was crying. Someone else was shouting for medics.

Then Javi was on the floor beside you.

“Hey. Look at me.”

You blinked at him.

He had one hand near your shoulder and the other hovering by your face like he didn’t know what he was allowed to touch. His gun was on the floor beside him. You had never seen him put it down that fast.

“You hit?” he asked.

You tried to answer, but your throat pulled where the knife had caught you.

His face changed. “Are you hit?”

“No,” you managed.

He didn’t believe you. His eyes went over you quickly, too quickly, checking for blood that wasn’t from the cut on your neck or your hand. When he found your palm, he swore and took your wrist carefully.

“It’s not bad,” you said.

“Don’t start.”

“It’s not.”

“You had a knife under your jaw.”

“I noticed.”

His mouth tightened, and for a second he looked so angry you thought he might shout at you right there on the floor.

He didn’t.

That was almost worse.

Carrillo appeared over his shoulder. “The boy is safe.”

You closed your eyes.

Javi’s grip on your wrist loosened a little when he felt the change in you.

“Safe?” you asked.

Carrillo nodded. “Shaken. Not cut.”

You swallowed and winced.

Javi saw. “Stop talking.”

“You first.”

Carrillo looked between you both, then pointed toward the door. “Get her outside.”

“I can walk,” you said.

Javi gave you a look. “I swear to God.”

You didn’t argue after that. Not because you agreed, but because when you tried to sit up, the room lurched hard enough that you had to grab his arm.

He didn’t say anything about it.

He helped you up with one hand at your elbow and the other braced against your back. Not soft. Not gentle enough to make it embarrassing. Just steady. He got you through the dining room without letting you look at Rivas’s body on the floor.

Outside, the afternoon light was too bright.

Medics had the boy sitting on the back of a truck with a blanket around him. He was crying into Carrillo’s jacket, little fists twisted in the fabric. You stopped walking when you saw him.

Javi stopped with you.

“He’s okay,” he said.

You nodded, but your eyes burned anyway. You were too tired to stop it. Too full of everything that had nearly happened and didn’t.

A medic sat you on the tailgate of another truck and started cleaning the cut under your jaw. You hissed when the antiseptic hit, and Javi’s hand flexed at his side like he wanted to take the cloth off the medic and do it himself.

“You can go,” you said.

He looked at you. “No.”

“I’m fine.”

“No.”

“You have work to do.”

“I’m doing it.”

You let out a tired laugh. “Standing over me?”

“Yes.”

The medic glanced up and wisely looked back down.

You watched Javi while the medic wrapped your hand. He wouldn’t look fully at you now. His attention kept cutting to the house, to Carrillo, to Rivas being covered inside the doorway, to the boy across the courtyard. Anywhere but your face for more than a second.

“You thought I turned,” you said.

The words came out before you could stop them.

Javi went still.

The medic paused.

You looked down at your bandaged hand. “When I named the wrong man.”

Javi said your name quietly.

“You did.”

He didn’t answer fast enough.

That was answer enough.

You nodded, feeling stupid for saying it out loud. “Okay.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

You gave him a look. “Don’t lie to me.”

His jaw worked. He looked exhausted suddenly. Older. Like the last ten minutes had taken something out of him he couldn’t get back.

“For a second,” he said.

You looked away.

That hurt more than your hand.

Javi stepped closer. “For one second, I didn’t understand what you were doing.”

“So you decided I was helping him?”

“No.”

“You said I was lying.”

“You were lying.”

“To save a child.”

“I know that now.”

“Yeah,” you said. “Now.”

The medic finished with your hand and backed away with an awkward cough. “You’ll need stitches in the palm. Neck’s shallow, but it needs cleaning again when we get back.”

You nodded without looking at him.

When he left, Javi sat beside you on the tailgate. Not too close. Close enough that his knee nearly brushed yours. He rested his elbows on his thighs and looked down at his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You laughed once, but it cracked in the middle. “You always sound so angry when you say that.”

“I am angry.”

“I know.”

“Not at you.”

You looked at him then.

His eyes were still on his hands. One of his knuckles was split. You didn’t know when that had happened.

“I’m angry that he had a kid under the table and I didn’t see it. I’m angry that you had to make that call on your own. I’m angry that when you did, I made it harder.”

Your throat tightened.

He finally looked at you. “And I’m angry that for one second, I thought you were someone you’re not.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

So you didn’t say anything.

Across the courtyard, the boy lifted his head from Carrillo’s jacket. His eyes found you. You raised your bandaged hand slightly before remembering it hurt. He gave the smallest wave back.

Javi saw it.

His face shifted again, but this time there was no anger in it.

“You saved him,” he said.

You kept looking at the boy. “Almost didn’t.”

“But you did.”

You shook your head. “I didn’t know if you’d understand.”

Javi looked down.

“That was the worst bit,” you said quietly. “Not the knife. Before that. When I knew you thought I was lying and I couldn’t tell you why.”

He closed his eyes for a second.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

This time, he didn’t sound angry.

You were too tired to stay hard at him. That annoyed you. You wanted to hold onto it for longer because it felt safer than the thing underneath.

Fear.

Hurt.

Relief that he was sitting beside you and not bleeding out in that hallway because you had told him not to miss.

“You took the shot,” you said.

“You gave me one.”

You nodded.

He looked at your hand. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

You stared at him.

His mouth barely moved. “Means you’re alive enough to complain.”

Despite everything, a laugh pushed out of you. It was small and ugly and hurt your throat. Javi looked at you like he hadn’t expected it and didn’t know what to do with it once it was there.

Then his eyes dropped to the blood drying along your neck, and the moment went quiet again.

Carrillo called his name from near the house.

Javi didn’t move.

“You should go,” you said.

“In a minute.”

“Javi.”

“In a minute,” he repeated.

You let him have it.

For that one minute, neither of you spoke. The courtyard moved around you. Men shouted. Radios crackled. Someone loaded evidence into a truck. The boy was lifted carefully into an ambulance with Carrillo walking beside him.

Javi stayed beside you until the ambulance doors shut.

Only then did he stand.

He looked down at you. “Don’t identify the wrong man again.”

You gave him a tired look. “Don’t miss things under tables.”

His face flickered.

Then he nodded once. “Fair.”

You watched him walk back toward the house, shoulders tight, head lowered slightly as Carrillo started talking to him. He didn’t look back until he reached the doorway.

You were still sitting there.

Bandaged hand in your lap. Blood on your collar. Cheek swelling where Rivas had hit you.

This time, when Javi looked at you, he didn’t look angry.

He looked like he believed you.

You pause, fingers stilling on the buckle. “What?”

“You’re not,” he repeats, voice even, eyes fixed somewhere just over your shoulder.

You frown. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“The plan changed.”

You glance past him, expecting backup. Robin’s busy with a radio. Nancy’s mid-argument with Jonathan. Dustin’s pacing, muttering to himself. No one’s paying attention yet.

You look back at Steve. “Why?”

He doesn’t answer.

That’s when you feel it, that tight, coiled thing under his skin. Not anger. Fear.

“Steve,” you say quietly. “Talk to me.”

He swallows. His jaw works once, like he’s biting back something softer.

“I don’t want you in there.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“It is to me.”

You take a small step back, searching his face. “You don’t get to decide this for me.”

“I do tonight.”

Your chest tightens. “Since when?”

“Since I’m done watching you play chicken with death,” he snaps.

The words hit harder than you expect.

You stare at him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Something in your posture changes. You straighten, instinctively defensive. “I’ve done every crawl. I know the layout. I know the risks.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” he fires back. “You know them and you go anyway.”

You shake your head, incredulous. “So does everyone else.”

“Not like you,” he says.

The space between you feels suddenly hostile.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t hesitate,” Steve says. “You don’t stop to think if you should be the one.”

“That’s not recklessness,” you say, voice sharpening. “That’s commitment.”

“No,” he says. “That’s you throwing yourself in front of things so no one else has to.”

Robin finally looks over. “Uh… everything okay?”

Steve doesn’t break eye contact with you.

“No,” he says flatly. “It’s not.”

Your stomach drops.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he continues, voice carrying now. “You slow people down.”

That one lands like a hard slap and you take a step back from him without thinking.

“Say that again,” you whisper.

“Every time you’re involved,” he says, forcing it out, “someone’s distracted. Someone’s worried about you instead of the job.”

Dustin freezes. “Steve, what the h-”

“I’m serious,” Steve cuts in. “We don’t need that.”

You laugh once, sharp and hollow. “You mean me.”

“Yes,” he says.

It’s a lie. A brutal one. And he delivers it like he practiced.

“You make things personal,” he adds. “And that’s dangerous.”

Your hands shake as you unclip the strap at your side.

“You’ve never said this before,” you say, quieter now.

“Maybe I should have.”

That’s when it really hits.

Your breath catches. Your shoulders curl in just slightly, like you’re bracing for another blow.

“So this is who you are?” you ask. “You wait until the last second to decide I’m a liability?”

Steve’s face flickers, his eye brows dipping slightly, pain, regret, gone as fast as it comes.

“I’m done catering to it,” he says.

You stare at him for a long moment.

Then you do something neither of you expects.

You pull the gun from your belt and shove it into his chest.

Not hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to mean something.

“Here,” you say. “Since I’m such a problem.”

Steve’s hands come up automatically, catching it.

Your fingers linger for half a second, and then you step back.

Further this time.

Like you don’t trust yourself not to fall into him if you stay closer.

Robin’s mouth is open. Nancy looks furious. Dustin looks like someone just kicked the air out of him.

“What the hell, Steve?” Robin snaps.

He doesn’t answer.

He can’t.

“Go home,” Steve says to you, voice low and final. “This isn’t your fight.”

You nod once.

Slow. Deliberate.

“You don’t get to tell me that,” you say. “But congratulations. You don’t have to anymore.”

You turn and walk away.

Not running. Not dramatic.

Just gone.

Steve doesn’t follow.

He stands there, jaw clenched so tight it aches, hands heavy around the weight of the gun you handed him.

Robin steps up beside him. “What did you just do?”

He exhales through his nose. “What I had to.”

Nancy shakes her head. “That was cruel.”

“I know.”

Dustin’s voice cracks. “She didn’t deserve that.”

Steve finally looks down, shoulders sagging just a fraction.

“I know.”

They don’t say anything else.

Because the truth is already sitting there between them:

Steve just torched something important on purpose.

Somewhere down the road, you’re driving with one hand tight on the wheel and the other useless in your lap, vision swimming just enough to make the headlights stretch and smear. You don’t pull over. You don’t slow down. You just keep going, letting the hurt sit where it landed.

Because if you stop, you might think too hard about what he said.

About how easily he said it.

Back in the lot, Steve is still standing where you left him.

The floodlights hum. Gravel shifts under boots as the others move around him, talking in low, urgent bursts he barely hears. Your gun is heavy in his hands, colder than it should be.

Then someone said a name you hadn’t heard in nearly two years.

“Reid’s with them?”

Jake noticed.

Your pen stopped moving. Not enough for anyone else to notice, maybe. But enough.

He looked over at you before the rest of the group had even finished walking in. His smile faded a little, not gone completely, but changed. You felt his attention land on you and forced yourself to write something on the clipboard in front of you.

It was nonsense. You wrote the same number twice.

You heard him before you saw him.

Evan Reid had always had a voice that carried, the kind that didn’t need much volume to make sure everyone heard it. He stepped into the hangar with a grin on his face and a patch on his shoulder that made your stomach drop. He looked almost exactly the same. Maybe a little older. Maybe a little broader. Still neat. Still polished. Still so good at looking harmless when other people were watching.

You lowered your head, but not fast enough.

His eyes found you.

The grin widened.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Evan said. “Didn’t know they were hiding you out here.”

The clipboard bent slightly in your hand.

Jake’s head turned.

The hangar didn’t go quiet. Not properly. People were still talking and working around you, but your little corner of it shrank down to Evan’s voice, your heartbeat, and Jake watching from across the floor.

You made yourself look up. “Evan.”

“Just Evan now?” he asked, walking closer. “That hurts.”

You felt your mouth go dry. “You’re here with the visiting squadron?”

“Few weeks.” His eyes moved over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “You look good. Different. But good.”

You didn’t know what to do with your hands. You set the pen down carefully, because if you kept holding it, you were going to snap it. “I’m working.”

“Still good at that,” he said. “Acting busy when you don’t want to talk.”

Jake had started moving before you even looked for him.

He crossed the hangar without rushing, but people got out of his way anyway. His expression was easy enough from a distance, almost casual, but you knew him better than that now. His shoulders were set. His jaw was tight. He had noticed the way your voice had gone flat and the way you hadn’t taken a full breath since Evan said your name.

“Everything good?” Jake asked, stopping beside you.

You hated how badly you wanted to step behind him.

Evan looked Jake up and down, then smiled like he’d just been handed something interesting. “Seresin, right? Heard about you.”

“All good, I’m sure,” Jake said.

“Depends who’s talking.”

Jake smiled, but there was nothing friendly in it. “Usually does.”

You picked up one of the folders from the bench. “I need to take these to admin.”

Evan shifted before you could step away, not blocking you outright, but close enough that you had to stop. It was such a small move. Nothing obvious. Nothing anyone could write down in a report. Just his body in the wrong place and yours reacting before your brain caught up.

Jake saw that too.

“Move,” Jake said.

Evan looked at him, amused. “Sorry?”

“You’re in her way.”

The amusement stayed, but his eyes sharpened. “She can tell me that herself.”

Jake’s smile dropped by half an inch. “She shouldn’t have to.”

You could feel people starting to notice now. Javy had gone still near the doors. Bradley was watching over the top of his coffee cup, brows drawn together. One of Evan’s squadron mates muttered something under his breath, but Evan didn’t look away from Jake.

You forced yourself to step sideways. “It’s fine.”

Jake didn’t look at you when he answered. “No, it’s not.”

Evan laughed softly. “Still doing that, huh?”

Your fingers tightened around the folder.

Jake glanced at you then. “Doing what?”

“Letting someone else speak for you,” Evan said, eyes still on you. “You always did like that. Made things easier.”

The shame hit so fast it almost felt physical.

You looked down at the floor. You hated yourself for it. Hated that he could still do that with a few words and a room full of people. Hated that Jake was seeing it. Hated that Evan knew exactly where to press.

Jake stepped forward.

Not much.

Enough.

“You want to try that again?” Jake asked.

Evan’s grin twitched. “We got a problem?”

“I’m waiting to see.”

You looked at Jake. His voice was calm, but that was what made it worse. He wasn’t posturing. He wasn’t performing for the room. He was giving Evan one chance to stop, and everyone who knew Jake could see it.

Evan saw it too, but he didn’t back off. Men like him rarely did when they had an audience.

He looked past Jake to you. “Guess you’ve upgraded. Good for you. Does he know why you ran from Lemoore, or did you leave that part out?”

That was answer enough.

Jake’s eyes cut to you, but you couldn’t hold his gaze.

Evan made a small sound, pleased with himself. “Thought so.”

Jake turned back to him. “You’re done talking to her.”

Evan’s smile thinned. “That’s not your call.”

“You sure about that?”

“You her boyfriend?”

The question landed between you before you could stop it. You and Jake had never really labelled it. Not because it wasn’t there, but because it was easier not to say it on base, where everyone saw everything. Late nights had turned into mornings. Coffee had turned into dinner. Arguments had turned into him keeping your favourite hoodie that he wore in his truck because you always forgot one.

But you had never said boyfriend.

“Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

Evan knew he had found something. You saw it in his face. Jake didn’t hesitate.

You tried to answer. Nothing came out.

Your chest went tight and Evan looked back at you. “That true?”

Jake shifted again, blocking more of you from Evan’s line of sight. “You’re not asking her questions anymore.”

That should have been the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Evan leaned slightly to the side so he could look at you around Jake. “He's no different to the last one. You have to have someone else clean up after you, then act like you had no choice. Pathetic.”

Jake moved so fast you barely registered it. One second he was beside you, the next he had Evan backed up against the side of the workbench, one hand fisted in the front of his flight suit. Tools rattled against the metal surface. The hangar went quiet this time.

“Hangman,” Bradley warned from across the room.

Jake didn’t look back.

Evan lifted his hands slowly, but he was still smiling. “Careful. Lots of witnesses.”

“Good,” Jake said. “Then everyone can hear me.”

You took a step forward. “Jake.”

He didn’t loosen his grip, but his voice changed when he spoke to you. “I’ve got it.”

“Please dont,” you said, quieter.

That made him look at you.

For a second, the anger eased enough for you to see the worry underneath. He was still holding Evan, but now he was looking at your face, checking you the way he always did. Trying to work out what you needed before you could decide whether to tell him.

You shook your head once.

Jake let go.

Evan straightened his flight suit with a smug little tug. “Smart.”

Jake stepped back, but only because Javy had appeared at his side and Bradley was coming in from the other direction. Phoenix was there too, eyes locked on Evan like she was memorising his face for later.

Maverick’s voice cut through the hangar from behind them. “What’s going on?”

No one answered for half a second.

Then Evan smiled again. “Misunderstanding.”

Jake laughed, "no its not.”

Maverick looked at him.

Jake pointed at Evan without taking his eyes off him. “He doesn’t go near her again.”

Evan scoffed. “That supposed to be an order?”

“No,” Jake said. “That’s me being polite because my commanding officer just walked in.”

Bradley muttered, “Jesus.”

Maverick’s gaze moved from Jake, to Evan, to you. He took in the folder crushed against your chest, your pale face, the way you were standing too still. He didn’t know the details, but he had been around long enough to read a room.

“Reid,” Maverick said. “Outside. Now.”

Evan’s expression shifted. Only for a second. Then the smile came back. “Sure.”

He walked past Jake, close enough to brush his shoulder on purpose.

Jake didn’t move.

You wished he had. You wished he had stepped back or looked away or done anything other than stand there, still and ready, because Evan would remember that. Evan remembered every slight. Every challenge. Every person who made him feel small.

Maverick followed Evan out, taking one of the visiting squadron leads with him. Noise slowly crept back into the hangar, but it was wrong now. Lower. Careful.

You looked down at the folder in your hands.

The corner had bent.

Jake turned toward you. “Hey.”

“I need to take these to admin.”

“No, you don’t.”

You tried to step around him. “Jake.”

He didn’t block you, not like Evan had. He just moved with you, keeping his voice low. “Look at me.”

“I’m at work.”

“Look at me.”

You did, because pretending you couldn’t hear him was somehow worse.

His face changed as soon as he got a proper look at you. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m angry.”

“You’re scared.”

“I said I’m angry.”

“Okay,” he said. “Then you’re angry.”

That almost broke you.

You hated that he didn’t argue. Hated that he let you have the word you could survive instead of forcing the one that would make you fall apart in front of everyone.

“I’m fine,” you said.

Jake nodded, but he didn’t believe you. “Sure.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Agree like you don’t.”

His mouth tightened. “Then don’t lie to me like I’m stupid.”

Your eyes stung immediately, which made you furious.

Bradley had moved close enough to hear, but not close enough to be obvious. Phoenix took the folder out of your hands before you realised she was there.

“I’ll take these,” she said.

You gripped the folder for a second too long.

She looked at you, calm and steady. “I’ve got it.”

You let go.

Jake watched your hands curl into fists at your sides. “Come outside.”

“I can’t just leave.”

“You can take five minutes.”

“I don’t want everyone looking at me.”

“They already are,” he said, then softened it when your face changed. “So let them look at my back instead.”

That was such a Jake thing to say that you almost laughed. It came out wrong, more breath than sound, but he heard it.

He held out his hand.

You stared at it.

Taking it felt like admitting something.

Not taking it felt worse.

You put your hand in his, and he led you out through the side door into the narrow stretch of concrete behind the hangar. The noise dropped as soon as the door shut. Outside, the air was warm and smelled faintly of jet fuel and sun-baked tarmac. You pulled your hand free the second you realised you were still holding his.

Jake let you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

He stood a few feet away, close enough to catch you if you went unsteady, far enough not to crowd you. You hated that he knew how to do that. Hated that Evan had been in the same room for five minutes and made you feel like you were back at Lemoore, checking doorways, answering texts too fast, learning which arguments weren’t worth having.

Jake leaned back against the wall. “Was he the reason you transferred?”

You looked out toward the runway. “Yes. And the time before that. He was also the reason.”

Jake breathed in slowly through his nose. “Okay.”

“That’s it?”

“No,” he said. “That’s just what I can say without getting myself in trouble.”

You rubbed both hands over your face. “He never hit me.”

Jake’s expression changed.

You knew how that sounded. You had said it too quickly, like it was a defence. Like it proved something.

“I didn’t ask that,” he said.

“I know.”

“But you felt like you had to tell me.”

You looked away.

Jake went quiet for a second, then said, “What did he do?”

You laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Everything else.”

His jaw clenched.

You kept your eyes on the runway because it was easier than looking at him. “He was charming at first. Everyone loved him. He helped me settle in. Took me places. Introduced me to people. Then it turned into him needing to know where I was all the time, who I was with, why I didn’t answer a message fast enough. If I talked to someone too long, he’d make it a thing later. If I wore something he didn’t like, he’d joke about it until I changed. I couldn't look anyone in the eye bacuse I was worried he was going to accuse me of 'eye-fucking' them.”

Jake didn’t interrupt.

That helped.

“It got worse after I tried to end it,” you said. “Not all at once. Just enough to make me think maybe I was overreacting. He’d show up where I was. He’d tell people I was unstable. He’d make it sound like I was the problem. Eventually I stopped going anywhere I didn’t have to. Then I put in for a transfer and left before he knew it had been approved. But then he followed me there. I didnt wait for it to get bad again so I put in another transfer as soon as I could.”

Jake’s voice was rough when he spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You glanced at him. “When?”

“When we started spending time together.”

“That’s not first date material.”

“We didn’t exactly have a first date.”

That got a tired smile out of you. “No. We had you stealing my fries and pretending it was flirting.”

“It worked.”

“Debatable.”

He didn’t smile back for long.

You looked down at the concrete. “I didn’t want to bring him here. Talking about him felt like giving him space in my life again. And I didn’t want you to look at me differently.”

Jake pushed off the wall. “Differently how?”

“Like I’m weak.”

He looked genuinely angry at that.

Not at you.

Never at you.

“You think that’s what I saw in there?”

You shrugged, hating yourself for how small it felt.

Jake stepped closer, then stopped when your shoulders tensed. “I saw you go quiet because someone who knows exactly how to hurt you walked into your workplace. That’s not weak.”

You blinked hard, trying to will away the fuzzy edges to your vision.

“Don’t be nice to me right now.”

“I’m not being nice. I’m being accurate.”

You huffed a watery laugh despite yourself.

The side door opened before either of you could say anything else.

You both turned.

Evan stood there.

Alone.

Your body reacted before your brain did. You stepped back, and Jake moved forward at the same time. It was immediate. No discussion. No hesitation.

Evan held up one hand. “Relax. Just wanted a word.”

Jake’s voice went flat. “No.”

Evan ignored him and looked at you. “Don't do that. Acting like things are bigger than they needed to be.”

You swallowed. “Go back inside.”

“See?” Evan said to Jake, gesturing towards you. “She can speak.”

Jake took one step toward him. “I told you not to talk to her.”

“And I’m telling you this has nothing to do with you.”

“You made it my business when you cornered her in my hangar.”

“Your hangar?” Evan laughed. “God, you really are exactly what people say.”

Jake smiled once. “Worse, probably.”

Evan’s eyes narrowed.

You knew that look. The first crack in the charm. The moment he stopped finding it entertaining.

He pointed at Jake but spoke to you. “This is who you picked?”

Your stomach twisted. “Don’t.”

“He looks useful,” Evan said. “A little easy to wind up, but useful. I'm not surprised she hooked you in man. Just be careful. One wrong move and she'll try and ruin your career.”

Jake moved again, but this time you caught his wrist.

He stopped.

You hadn’t meant to touch him. But your hand was around his wrist and his pulse was strong under your fingers. He looked down at your hand, then back at Evan.

Evan saw it too.

His face changed.

Not much.

Enough.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. “You’re actually with him?”

Jake’s voice dropped. “Careful.”

Evan stepped closer, ignoring him. “After all that crying about needing to be alone? After making me look like the bad guy because I wouldn’t let you run around doing whatever you wanted?”

Your grip tightened around Jake’s wrist.

Jake looked ready to put him through the door.

You made yourself breathe.

Then you let go of Jake and stepped out from behind him.

Jake turned his head slightly. “Y/N.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“I know,” you said. “But I need to say it.”

Jake didn’t like it. You could tell. But he stayed where he was.

You faced Evan properly for the first time since he had walked in.

“I didn’t make you look like anything,” you said. Your voice shook, but it held. “You did that yourself.”

Evan blinked.

“You followed me. You checked my phone. You told people things about me that weren’t true because you knew they’d believe you before they believed me. I left because I didn’t feel safe around you anymore.”

His face hardened. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Jake took half a step forward.

You lifted a hand slightly, and somehow he stopped again.

“No,” you said. “That doesn’t work anymore.”

Evan scoffed. “What doesn’t?”

“That. Saying I’m dramatic so you don’t have to answer for what you did.”

For the first time, Evan looked past you toward Jake, like he was checking how much had landed.

Jake was staring at him with open disgust now.

Evan’s jaw tightened. “You really want to do this here?”

“You came out here.”

“I came to talk.”

“You came to make sure I was still scared of you.”

He smiled, but it looked forced. “Are you?”

You wanted to lie.

Jake shifted behind you. Not in front. Just enough that you felt him there.

“No,” you said.

It wasn’t fully true.

But it was true enough.

Evan stared at you for a long moment. Then he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You should be.”

Jake caught him by the front of his flight suit and drove him back against the wall before you could move.

Not hard enough to injure.

Hard enough to make the point.

Evan’s head hit the metal siding with a loud clang.

Jake leaned in close. “That was stupid.”

Evan grabbed at his wrist. “Get off me.”

“No.”

“Seresin,” you said, but your voice wasn’t as strong this time.

Jake kept his eyes on Evan. “You don’t threaten her. You don’t follow her. You don’t speak to her unless she speaks to you first. You don’t look at her like she owes you something. And if I hear you’ve been asking anyone on this base about her, I’ll make sure every person you report to knows exactly why.”

Evan tried to laugh. It didn’t come out right. “You think I’m scared of you?”

“No,” Jake said. “I think you’re used to scaring people who don’t want to make a scene.”

That shut him up.

The side door opened again.

Maverick stepped out with Bradley behind him.

Maverick took one look at Jake’s hand on Evan’s flight suit and sighed. “Seresin.”

Jake didn’t move.

Bradley’s eyes flicked to you. “You okay?”

You nodded once.

Maverick stepped closer. “Let him go.”

Jake waited one more second before he released Evan and stepped back. Evan straightened, breathing harder than he wanted anyone to notice.

“He put hands on me,” Evan snapped.

Maverick looked at you. “What happened?”

Evan answered first. “We were talking.”

“No,” you said.

Everyone looked at you.

Your heart was beating too fast, but you forced yourself to keep going. “He followed us out here after being told to stay away from me. Then he threatened me.”

Maverick’s expression changed immediately.

Evan laughed. “That’s not what happened.”

Jake turned his head slowly. “You sure you want to lie right now?”

Maverick looked at Bradley. “Get Cyclone.”

Evan’s face shifted. “For what?”

“For a conversation you’re not going to enjoy,” Maverick said.

Bradley stepped back inside without another word.

Evan looked at you then, really looked at you, and there it was again. That old warning. That promise that this wasn’t finished.

Jake saw it.

So did Maverick.

“Reid,” Maverick said, voice sharper now. “Eyes on me.”

Evan looked away from you.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

Maverick pointed toward the door. “Inside. Now.”

Evan went, but not before brushing past Jake with his shoulder again.

This time, Jake let him.

Barely.

Maverick watched Evan go back into the hangar, then looked at you. His voice lowered. “Do you want to make a report?”

Your stomach dropped out.

Jake looked at you, but he didn’t answer for you.

That mattered.

“I don’t know,” you said.

Maverick nodded. “Okay. You don’t have to decide this second. But he won’t be left alone with you.”

You swallowed. “Thank you.”

Maverick looked at Jake next. “You. Walk it off before you do something paperwork can’t fix.”

Jake’s jaw flexed, but he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Maverick went back inside, leaving you and Jake outside by the hangar wall with the runway noise filling the gap.

You turned to him. “You shouldn’t have grabbed him.”

“No,” Jake said. “Probably not.”

“You could get in trouble.”

“Yeah.”

“Jake.”

He looked at you then. “He threatened you.”

“I know.”

“I heard him.”

“I know.”

His face tightened. “You shouldn’t have had to stand there and say all that just to be believed.”

You looked down at your hands. They were still shaking, but less than before. “I think I needed to say it for me.”

Jake went quiet.

When you looked up, he was watching you differently. Not like you were breakable. Not like he pitied you. Just like he was trying to understand the shape of something he hadn’t known you were carrying.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you said.

“I get why you didn’t.”

“That’s not the same as it being okay.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not.”

You nodded, because that was fair.

Jake leaned back against the wall again, keeping a little distance between you. “For the record, I do not think you’re weak.”

You gave him a tired look. “You already said that.”

“I’m saying it again.”

“Jake.”

“And I’m going to keep saying it until you stop looking like you expect me to change my mind.”

Your throat went tight.

You looked away toward the runway, where heat shimmered above the concrete.

After a moment, Jake said, “Boyfriend, huh?”

You turned back to him.

His expression was still serious, but there was something else under it now. A small attempt to give you something normal to hold onto.

“You said it,” you replied.

“Didn’t hear you correct me.”

“I was busy trying not to throw up.”

“Not exactly romantic.”

“No.”

He nodded. “We can work on that.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself. It was small and shaky, but real enough that Jake’s face softened.

Then he held out his hand again, not pushing, not assuming.

This time you took it without staring at it first.

Jake’s fingers closed around yours, warm and steady. “Come on,” he said. “We’ll go find Phoenix. She’s better at making reports sound less terrifying.”

“And you?”

“I’m better at making impressions.”

You looked back toward the hangar door Evan had disappeared through.

“For what it’s worth,” you said, “you definitely made one.”

Jake glanced at you, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

Joel’s posture shifted subtly. You caught it out of the corner of your eye, the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his hand drifted just a little closer to the pistol at his side.

A glance passed between you and him. Silent understanding. This wasn’t right.

Then came the twitch, one of them, standing too far back to be part of the trade, fingers brushing over the safety of his rifle.

That was all the warning you got before hell broke loose.

Gunfire erupted like thunder, the air splitting open with sound and heat. Joel moved first, fast and brutal, pulling you down behind a pile of broken crates. Splinters flew. Bullets screamed. You barely had time to raise your weapon before the first man was on you, close enough to smell the sweat and blood on him.

You shot him in the gut. Joel put a bullet through his head.

Then it was just chaos- smoke and shadows, shouts that became screams, the metallic tang of blood already in the air. You barely noticed the shot that clipped your shoulder. Not at first. It was the warmth that drew your eyes down, the spreading red on your sleeve. Your legs buckled, but Joel caught you with one hand and fired with the other, his aim steady even as yours blurred.

He didn’t ask if you could keep going.

He just made damn sure you didn’t have to.

When the last man dropped, the silence hit like a punch. Your ears rang. Your breath came in short, shuddering bursts. Blood dripped onto the concrete, some yours, most not. You leaned back against the cold wall, blinking through the fog as your hands trembled around your pistol.

Joel stood over one of the bodies, chest heaving, his arm bleeding through the torn sleeve of his shirt. For a second he just stared at the corpse like he was trying to burn it out of his memory. Then he turned, and his eyes found you.

"You okay?" His voice was rough. Tight.

You nodded, but your lip trembled. “Yeah,” you said, though it sounded like a lie even to you.

Joel’s eyes flicked to your shoulder. “You’re hit.”

“So are you,” you said, trying to sound steady, but your knees were on the verge of giving out.

He took a step toward you- cautious, like you were a wounded animal that might bolt or bite. His hand hovered near your arm, not quite touching.

You stood there, toe-to-toe, close enough to see the blood drying on his cheek. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then lifted again, eyes dark with something you didn’t have the words for. Not relief. Not yet. Just... shock. That you were both still breathing.

The air between you crackled. Hot. Heavy. Your pulse thudded in your ears.

Then you moved. You didn’t think. Didn’t plan. Just grabbed him by the collar and kissed him hard.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t pretty. Your lips were split, your hands shaking. Blood smeared between you, his or yours, you didn’t know, but your mouth crashed against his like you were drowning and he was the only breath left in the world.

Joel didn’t move at first.

Then his arms snapped around you like a vice.

He kissed you back, and it was devastating. Nothing held back. It was all desperation. His hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. He kissed like a man who’d been starving. Like he hadn’t let himself want anything this badly in years, maybe ever.

And for that one burning moment, there was no past, no future. Just now. Just this.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours. Both of you were shaking. Breathing like you’d run a hundred miles.

“We shouldn’t’ve done that,” Joel said, his voice hoarse, eyes shut like it hurt to say.

You didn’t let go. You were still holding on to his shirt like a lifeline. “Do you want me to pretend it didn’t happen?”

Joel opened his eyes.

Looked at you like he didn’t know how to answer. Like the words physically hurt coming out of his mouth.

“No,” he said quietly. “But it scares the hell outta me that it did.”

You swallowed. Your shoulder throbbed, your knees weak, but you nodded once. “Me too.”

There was a pause. A breath. A beat between heartbeats.

Then he kissed you again.

Slower this time. Softer.

“Wait.” His voice sharpens. “Is that you?”

You laugh. It sounds hollow in your own ears. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. Just…don’t really wanna be here anymore.”

Silence.

Dead, bone-deep silence.

Then-

“Where are you?”

You try to answer. Try to find the words.

But the phone slips from your hand and clatters to the floor.

Javi is out the door before he realizes he didn't even grab his wallet, or gun.

Doesn’t matter.

He’s already halfway to your apartment, tires screeching, mind racing. His hands are shaking on the wheel - not from adrenaline, not from the risk - but from fear.

Because he knows what you sound like when you’re drunk. Knows your voice inside and out. And that wasn’t just drunk.

That was something darker.

***

You barely register the sound of the door unlocking.

But you do hear it when it slams shut. Hard enough to rattle the frame. Hard enough to make you jump.

And then he’s there.

Standing in your apartment like a ghost dragged out of memory. Hair wild, boots tracking dirt across the tile, chest heaving like he’s been running for hours.

Your heart kicks up.

You drop the pistol on instinct - not that you were going to use it and push yourself upright on unsteady feet.

“Javi?”

He sees it.

The gun on the floor. The glassy look in your eyes. The way your sweater hangs off your shoulder, neck blotchy with dried tears.

And something in him breaks.

“Jesus Christ.”

You step back.

“Get out.”

“Not happening.”

“Javi, I mean it-”

“You called me.” His voice is low, rough. Frayed. “I don’t care if it was a mistake. I’m not leaving.”

Your eyes sting.

Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it wasn’t.

But right now, you can’t think straight. Everything’s spinning. You reach for the counter, grab the closest thing, a half-empty glass of something warm and bitter and turn away.

He steps closer.

“You say you don’t wanna be here. Then I find you with a fucking gun. You think I’m just gonna walk out?”

You spin, fast.

“It's not even loaded!” you snap, the lie hot and shaking in your throat. “It wasn’t-”

The glass slips from your hand.

Hits the counter.

Shatters.

You hand followed it, a poor attempt to try and catch it and the pain is instant, sharp and wet, slicing through your palm like lightning.

You stagger back, hand curled, blood already dripping down your wrist.

“Shit-”

Javi’s on you in seconds.

“Don’t move.”

You try to shake him off. Try to pull your hand away. But he’s stronger. Always has been. And for once, he’s gentle. That’s worse somehow.

“Stop,” you whisper. “You don’t get to act like this anymore.”

His eyes flick to yours.

“Like what?”

“Like you care.”

A beat.

Then — quietly, almost a whisper:

“I never stopped.”

You freeze.

He guides you to the sink, rinses your hand under the faucet. The cold stings, and you hiss, but he doesn’t let go. Just moves slow. Methodical.

Grabs the fist aid kit from under the sink and opens it with what you can only describe as muscle memory from previous patch ups.

Wrapping gauze with callused fingers and a jaw locked tight enough to splinter.

The silence stretches.

Your voice cracks when you finally ask, “Why’d you come?”

He exhales through his nose.

“Because you said you didn’t wanna be here anymore.”

Your throat burns.

You look down at the blood-streaked sink. At your shaking hands. At him.

Still here.

Still Javi.

“I didn’t mean to call you.”

He nods.

“I know.”

But he still came.

You look at him, really look - the worry carved into his face, the storm behind his eyes.

And something inside you splinters.

“You should hate me.”

His voice is quiet. Firm.

“I’ve never hated you.”

You don’t have the strength to argue. Don’t have the armor anymore.

The second Javi split off toward the captain’s office, Calderón cornered you by the records room.

“You know,” he said, crowding you against the hallway wall, “a pretty face like yours shouldn’t be doing a dirty job like this.”

You kept your expression neutral. “I’m not here to be pretty, Lieutenant.”

His smile was slow. Greasy.

“No, but it helps. Peña’s not sharing, is he? Wouldn’t be the first time he kept the best parts for himself.”

You stiffened.

“Back off,” you said, sharp and to the point.

He leaned in anyway. “I’m not the only one who’s thought it. The way he looks at you. The way he talks to you. Like you’re his fucking pet project.”

Your jaw locked. His breath smelled like cigarettes and stale aguardiente. The hall was too narrow. No one else around. You stepped back, but he followed.

“He’ll get you killed,” Calderón said with a crooked grin. “That’s how it ends with men like Peña. He uses you up and leaves you bleeding.”

Your hand hovered near your hip—just near enough for him to notice. A warning.

But someone beat you to it.

A shadow moved in the corner of your eye.

Then Javi’s voice, cold and quiet and deadly. “I suggest you back the fuck off Calderón.”

He didn't turn immediately, but the look in his eye as he stuck his tongue in his cheek. Pissed Javi was back already.

Javi didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.

“I said,” he repeated, stepping into the space between you and the lieutenant, “move.”

The tension that snapped into the air was almost physical. Thick. Dangerous.

Calderón tried to play it off. “Jesus, Peña. You DEA boys always so protective of your lapdogs?”

Javi didn’t blink. “You say that again, and I’ll break your jaw.”

There was a pause.

Calderón looked like he wanted to test him.

You saw the moment he thought better of it.

Javi didn’t move. He didn’t yell. But his hand twitched at his side in a way that made it very clear he wasn’t bluffing.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Calderón muttered, taking a slow step back.

“You’re going to pretend,” Javi said, voice like smoke and fire, “ that you never spoke to her. And you’re going to keep your mouth shut if you ever want DEA support on your raids again.”

The lieutenant glared at him. Then you.

Then disappeared down the hall.

You didn’t breathe until he was gone.

***

Outside, the sun had gone down, and the air was thick with diesel and ash. Javi lit a cigarette with steady fingers.

You leaned against the Jeep and crossed your arms.

“Thanks for that.”

He didn’t answer.

He took a long drag, then handed the cigarette to you without looking.

You took it.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said.

He turned his head, slowly. “Yes, I did.”

Your mouth went dry.

“He was just talking,” you said quietly.

Javi’s jaw tensed. “He was threatening you.”

You gave a short laugh. “That’s what passes for flirting down here apparently.”

“That wasn’t flirting.”

You exhaled slowly passing the cigarette back to him. “Javi, I’m not some delicate thing.”

“I know that.” He looked at you. Really looked at you. And for a second, the rest of the world just dropped away. “But I’ve seen what men like that do when no one stops them. And I’m not going to let that happen to you.”

You blinked.

The silence sat heavy.

Then, softly. “You always step in like that?”

His eyes dropped. “Only when I care.”

Your breath caught. You watched him shift nervously.

“About me?”

He met your gaze. Steady. Unflinching.

Not Javier.

You hadn’t spoken in weeks. Not since that fight in the safe house. Not since the last op went sideways and you went with Carillo instead.

You called Steve.

You don’t even remember saying a word. Just the sound of your breathing, the echo of his voice over the line: “Where are you? Hello? Hello-?”

And then silence.

Until now.

“Jesus Christ.” His voice is like thunder—sharp, panicked, thick with fear. “Hey- hey. Hey, I got you. It’s okay.”

You blink, slow, head lolling against the wall. You’re sitting on the bathroom floor, legs sprawled, shirt soaked through. You don’t know how long you’ve been here.

Steve drops to his knees. Hands on your shoulders, face pale.

“Don’t move. Okay? I need to stop the bleeding.”

He presses something- towel? Shirt? Pressed hard against your side. You flinch.

“Sorry. Sorry.” His voice breaks. “What the fuck happened?”

“Went out with Carillo,” you murmur. “Wasn't clean intel.”

“No shit,” he growls. “This is bad. Really bad.”

You try to wave him off, but your arm falls uselessly to the floor.

He grabs your phone. You know who he’s calling before he says a word.

“Don’t,” you whisper.

“I’m not watching you die in your bathroom just ‘cause the two of you can’t get your shit together.”

You want to protest, but everything’s fading.

You close your eyes.

You hear the door slam open minutes later. Fast footsteps. A voice like gravel and fury.

“Where is she?”

Steve calls out something, but you’re not listening anymore. Your vision is full of him-Javier Peña, storming into the bathroom like the world is ending, like it already did the second he saw you on the floor.

He’s on his knees in front of you, eyes wild. You’ve never seen him look like this.

“What the fuck did you do?” he says, but it’s not anger. It’s fear.

You try to speak. Can’t.

His hands hover, then settle on your face, your neck, your side. “Stay with me,” he whispers, voice cracking. “You hear me? You stay with me.”

Steve watches from the doorway, jaw tight. “I couldn’t get it to stop. She’s losing a lot-”

“I’ve got it.” Javier’s already tearing open the med kit, barking instructions like he’s trying to take back every second he wasn’t there.

You’re barely conscious. But you see his hands shake.

“You wait ‘til you’re half-dead to let me back in?” he says, pressing gauze to your ribs. “What the hell is that?”

You manage a faint smile. “Didn’t think you wanted back in.”

“Don’t- don’t fucking do that.” His voice catches. “Don’t joke like that right now.”

You feel his hand slide down, lacing with yours.

“You should have called me,” he mutters.

“Keep up Javi, we hate each other at the moment. Remember?”

His eyes close, and he bows his head. Like it’s too much. Like it’s all too much.

“You idiot,” he breathes. “I never stopped caring.”

And this time, when you slip under again, it’s to the feel of his hand holding yours. Fierce. Steady. Unshakable.

***

The beeping is slow and steady.

Too steady.

You blink hard against the overhead light, throat dry, body aching in places you can’t fully track. There’s an IV in your arm. Bandages on your side. And Connie sitting in the chair beside you, eyes puffy, book in her lap, staring past it like she hasn’t turned a page in a while.

When you shift and groan, her head snaps up.

“You’re awake,” she says, relief flooding her face. “Jesus. You scared the hell out of us.”

You try to speak, but your mouth’s like sandpaper. She brings you water. Helps you sip.

It takes a minute before your voice works.

“Steve…?”

“He’s here,” she says. “Down the hall. Talking to the doctor.”

You wince as you shift again, the pain a reminder of how close it was. How much blood you lost.

“I'm sorry I called him,” you whisper. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“He said you were barely standing when he got there,” Connie murmurs, her voice soft. “Bleeding all over the bathroom tiles. Scared the shit out of him.”

You nod slowly, guilt tightening in your chest.

She hesitates. “He called Javi.”

Your heart stumbles, you'd forgotten that part. “What?”

“He didn’t even think about it. Just picked up the phone and told him to get there. Said you were in trouble.”

You look away. “I didn’t want him to see me like that.”

Connie’s voice hardens, just slightly. “Well, he did. Steve couldn’t stop him. And Javi wouldn’t have let him anyway.”

You blink hard. “Is he still here?”

She nods. “Hasn’t left since they brought you in. You were in surgery for three hours, and he didn’t sit down once. Just paced the floor like he was about to explode.”

You say nothing.

“I’m gonna go get the nurse,” she says gently. “Let them know you’re up.”

But before she can reach the door, it opens.

And Javier Peña stands there like something out of a storm. Eyes bloodshot, jaw tight, chest rising and falling like he hasn’t exhaled since he walked into that hospital.

He sees you.

And whatever cold detachment he might’ve been holding onto shatters.

He moves past Connie without a word.

The hospital room is dim when you speak.

Your voice is quiet. Raw.

“Why are you here, Javi?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just sits there, hands knotted in his lap, eyes dark and unreadable.

“I didn’t call you,” you go on. “I haven’t called you in weeks. I’ve done nothing to deserve you sitting here, checking on me like you… like you give a shit.”

The silence stretches, and you almost regret it, you almost take it back.

Then:

“I never stopped caring.”

Your breath catches.

“I thought…” You shake your head. “After the last time we talked- after what you said…”

“I said a lotta shit I didn’t mean,” he mutters. “Because I was scared. Because caring about you made things harder. Not easier.”

You look away. You don’t know what to say to that.

He stays until dawn, slumped in a chair, arms crossed, but he doesn’t sleep. Not for a second.

***

You discharge yourself against medical advice.

You can still feel the stitches pulling when you walk, your ribs scream with every breath, but you ignore it. You’ve ignored worse.

You're outside the hospital, trying to flag a taxi, one arm clutched tight around your middle when a familiar truck pulls up fast to the curb.

Javi leans out the window.

“You outta your goddamn mind?”

You don’t answer.

He throws the door open anyway. “Get in.”

You hesitate for just a beat- then climb in.

You ride in silence for a few minutes. The sun is too bright. Your body hurts. But your mind's already racing ahead.

“Can I borrow your phone?” you ask, finally.

He glances at you. “Why?”

“I need to call Carillo. We need to plan the next move. Figure out what the cartel’s gonna do in response-”

He brakes hard and pulls off the road, gravel crunching under the tires as the car jerks to a stop.

You stare at him, wide-eyed.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He turns toward you, slowly. “Are you hearing yourself?”

“I need to finish what I started-”

“You almost died.”

“I didn’t.”

“You nearly bled out on your goddamn bathroom floor!”

You go quiet. He’s never raised his voice like this. Not at you.

His voice drops, but it’s worse now- low and tight and wrecked.

“You think I stayed at that hospital all night just to watch you throw yourself back into a war zone? Like none of this meant anything? Like you mean nothing?”

Your lip trembles. You bite it hard.

“I don’t know how else to be,” you whisper. “I can’t sit still, Javi. Not when this city’s still bleeding.”

He leans forward, elbows on the steering wheel. Doesn’t look at you when he says:

“I get it. You’re good at this job. Maybe too good. But don’t pretend it hasn’t cost you. Don’t pretend it hasn’t cost me.”

That lands sharp in your chest.

He finally turns to look at you again- eyes raw, unreadable.

“I let you walk away before. I thought it was safer. Cleaner. But I swear to God- if you go out there like this again, if you get yourself killed trying to be the one who fixes everything…”

He shakes his head, jaw tight.

“I won’t survive it.”

You don’t speak.

There’s nothing you can say.

Somewhere to your left, the diplomat’s still crying. Wheezing now. The bastard wet himself thirty minutes ago, and the stench hangs thick in the warm air, mixing with gasoline and sweat.

You glance up. One of the cartel men catches the movement and slams the butt of his rifle into your jaw.

White light flashes behind your eyes.

You don’t scream.

Just clench your teeth and let the pain anchor you.

Then-

click.

A soft, near-silent sound in your ear. The one comfort left.

“I got eyes.”

Javi’s voice. Calm. Gravelled. Low like a cigarette lit in the dark.

“Don’t fuckin’ move.”

You go still.

Frozen in place, head bowed, blood running from your lip.

There’s a sniper scope aimed through a filthy warehouse window, and you know damn well it’s trained on the asshole who just hit you. One squeeze, and Javi could take his head off. You almost wish he would.

But that’s not how this plays out.

Not yet.

The gunmen, three of them, keep pacing like caged dogs. All young. Jumpy. High as hell on coke or adrenaline or both. One of them keeps shouting into a satellite phone. Demanding transport. A helicopter. Safe passage. Money.

They don’t know who you are.

Not really.

Just that you came in armed, with the diplomat in tow. They got lucky. You didn’t.

“Warehouse’s secure. No eyes on the back. They're bluffing about reinforcements.”

Javi again, voice right in your ear. He’s not breathing hard.

“They shoot the diplomat, I drop the one on the left.”

That would be Rodrigo. Twitchy fingers. Keeps tapping his boots against the floor. He’s the one closest to the exit, near the diplomat.

“You good, baby?” Javi’s voice softens just a hair. A quiet tether.

“Talk to me.”

You flex your jaw. Blood drips off your chin.

“I’m good,” you murmur. Voice no more than a whisper. “Still breathing.”

“That’s my girl.”

The words wrap around you like a second skin. Just enough to keep you steady.

The diplomat moans again. Pathetic. His face is blotchy red, shirt clinging with sweat. His suit jacket’s long gone, and his tie’s wrapped like a tourniquet around one forearm for no reason at all.

“He moves again, they’re gonna make an example out of him.”

Javi sounds pissed now. You can hear it in the way he spits each word.

“Fuckin’ amateurs.”

You scan the room again, slowly this time. Three men. One radio. Two rifles. One pistol jammed into the back of Rodrigo’s waistband.

And you, unarmed. Cuffed. Useless.

Except you’re not.

You breathe. In. Out.

Your gun’s still in the drainpipe outside. You ditched it when they cornered you and the diplomat outside the building, before they dragged you both in.

“Still got the gear?” Javi asks.

You hum once. Quiet. Affirmative.

There’s a knife hidden in your boot. Ceramic. Won’t show up on metal detectors. You can’t reach it like this, not with your wrists tied behind your back, but you tell Javi anyway.

“Boot blade,” you murmur.

“Good.” He exhales. “Hold tight. SWAT’s three minutes out. I’ve got command on comms. If this turns loud, I go first.”

You swallow. Your throat’s dry as paper.

You know what that means.

First shot, first kill- before they can execute you both. He’s got one in his scope. But he can’t take the others fast enough to stop them from retaliating.

Which is why you're still on your knees, bleeding into the concrete, waiting.

The cartel boss shouts again. This time into your face.

“You DEA?” he demands.

You don’t answer.

He backhands you.

The world tips sideways.

“Fuck.” Javi’s voice explodes in your earpiece.

“I’m gonna put a fuckin’ hole in that bastard.”

You grit your teeth. Not yet. You shake your head just slightly-enough for Javi to catch it through his scope.

“Alright,” he breathes.

“Alright. I see you.”

Something shifts outside. You hear it, just faintly-the thrum of a helicopter in the distance. Backup. Javi wasn’t lying.

The youngest cartel soldier runs to the door, distracted.

And that’s your opening.

You don’t think. You move.

Twist your left foot. Catch the heel against the corner of the concrete. Drag it. Hard. The knife handle juts just out of your boot. You shift your weight, ignoring the fire in your arms, and drop sideways onto your hip.

It’s enough.

You drive your boot into the blade and the ceramic shiv pops free.

Right into your palm.

You yank your hands under you, biting down a grunt as the plastic zip-tie cuts deeper into your flesh.

And saw.

Fast. Panicked.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Javi’s voice tightens.

“Don’t move- goddammit, wait.”

You don’t.

The tie snaps. You scramble upright, blood slick on your fingers and tackle the nearest man. Rodrigo.

You jam the blade into his thigh, once, twice. His scream rips the air open.

The pistol at his waist falls. You lunge.

And then-

BOOM.

The sniper shot cracks the silence.

The man by the door drops like a marionette with its strings cut, half his skull gone.

Screams. Chaos.

The third man whirls and opens fire.

You drag the diplomat behind a crate as bullets chew through wood and metal.

“Move!” Javi roars in your ear.

“Get to the southeast corner- now!”

You don’t argue.

You grab the diplomat by the collar and run.

A second shot rings out. The last man falls, convulsing, blood pumping from his chest.

Then-

Silence.

You collapse behind the crate. The diplomat’s shaking. You’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying.

Your earpiece crackles.

“Talk to me,” Javi says, breathless now. “You hit?”

You look down.

Blood everywhere. Not all of it yours.

“No,” you manage. “I’m fine. All clear.”

“Jesus Christ.” He exhales. A ragged sound.

“You didn’t wait. I told you not to fuckin’ move.”

You wipe your lip. Grin bitterly.

“Yeah, well. I got bored.”

“You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

You hear his boots a minute later, loud on the steel catwalk as he barrels through the open door. Rifle slung over one shoulder, badge clipped, jaw clenched.

He crosses the floor in four long strides and drops to one knee beside you.

“You’re bleeding,” he mutters, hand on your face, tilting your chin.

“So are you,” you rasp.

He didn’t answer. Just stood there. Staring straight ahead, jaw locked, chest rising and falling like a war drum. You saw the shift in him like a pressure drop before a storm. The way he froze first, then tensed, then inhaled slow and deep, moving to walk away.

You reached for his arm.

“Please. Just… stop for a second. Talk to me. You need to be calm about this.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Not past you. Not through you. But at you.

“This is me calm,” he said, voice low and tight. “You don’t want to see me after.”

Your fingers curled harder around his jacket sleeve. “You go out there like this, they’ll see you coming. You’ll walk into it blind.”

Javi blinked, then turned his head slightly—like the effort of holding still was costing him something. His voice dropped even further. “They touched you.”

You swallowed. “They tried. That’s different.”

His hands curled into fists. “Not different enough.”

Silence crackled between you. Somewhere in the distance, traffic murmured on the Bogotá streets, dogs barked, a horn blared. All of it felt muted behind the white noise screaming in your head.

“They’ll kill you,” you said finally. “If you go in angry, they’ll use that.”

He didn’t deny it. He didn’t promise he’d be careful.

Instead, he said, “You’re the only reason I haven’t put a bullet in that son of a bitch already.”

Your breath hitched.

“I let you walk in there alone. I told myself it was a clean meet. No risk. Nothing to worry about.” He gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “Then I got the call.”

You stepped in front of him. Pressed your hands to his chest.

“I’m fine.”

“No,” Javi said. “You’re not. You’re shaken. You’re pale. And if you think I’m gonna let that slide—”

“You’ll blow everything,” you snapped. “All the progress we made. All the information he was giving us. You burn that bridge and we’ve got nothing.”

Javi leaned in close. His voice was a whisper now. “We already have nothing if it means putting you in front of a loaded gun and calling it a negotiation.”

You looked at him for a long time.

“You think I haven’t wanted to fall apart today?” you whispered. “I did. But I didn’t. Because I knew you’d come storming in like this. And I can’t afford for both of us to lose it.”

His eyes softened for half a second. Then hardened again.

“You don’t get to carry this alone.”

“I’m not. I’m telling you now.”

He closed his eyes. Exhaled.

Then finally—finally—he nodded.

Not in agreement. But in surrender.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. We’ll do it your way. For now.”

But as he moved to sit beside you, jaw still tight, you knew what he meant.

You, Joel, and Tommy had stumbled right into their nest. A runner spotted you near the stairwell—just one—but by the time it went down, its scream had summoned the rest. You barely made it into one of the back rooms and barricaded the door with an old dresser and a rotting nightstand.

Outside, the horde scraped and growled. Claws dragged along the wood. Clickers shrieked, the sound high and grating, a reminder of how close they were. How fast they could get in if your makeshift barricade gave way.

“This ain’t holdin’ long,” Joel said, pressing his weight against the door. Sweat gleamed at his temple, but his grip was steady. Controlled. “We need a plan. Fast.”

Tommy was pacing behind him, glancing at the broken window. “Can’t climb down,” he said. “Too high. And there’s more out back. We’re surrounded.”

You were still, thinking.

And then it clicked.

“There’s the stairwell,” you said, breath quick. “If we can get them to move toward the front, we can loop around through the hallway and double back. Get out through the kitchen. I saw an emergency exit back there. It looked clear.”

“They’ll never leave the door,” Joel said. “They know we’re in here.”

“They’ll leave if I give them something better to chase,” you said.

Joel turned to you slowly.

The look on his face—like the air had been knocked clean out of him.

“No.”

“It’ll work,” you said. “I take the hallway. Make enough noise, lead them away. You and Tommy sneak through the side entrance and double back to the kitchen. I’ll meet you there.”

“No,” Joel repeated, louder now. “You’re not doin’ that.”

You met his eyes. “It’s the only way.”

“The only way that gets you killed,” he snapped. “You think they’ll just let you run? They’ll catch you the second you slow down. Tear you to pieces.”

“Not if I’m smart. Not if I move fast.”

Joel stepped forward, jaw clenched. His voice dropped low—dangerous. “This ain't like you. You don’t do reckless.”

You swallowed hard. “Maybe I’ve just had enough of watching people die when I could’ve done something.”

“Don’t you put that on me,” he growled. “You think I don’t care? You think I want this?”

“I think you care so much you can’t see straight.” Your voice cracked. “But this is the call, Joel. And you know it.”

He shook his head. Backed away, pacing like he was trying to shake off the idea. Like if he didn’t look at you, maybe the words wouldn’t be real.

Tommy stayed quiet, but his silence was heavy. And that was worse. You knew he agreed. He just didn’t want to say it out loud.

Joel finally looked at you again.

His eyes were glassy now. Tired. Angry. So goddamn scared.

“You run,” he said hoarsely. “The second they follow, you run like hell. You don’t stop. Don’t look back. You see a way out, you take it. Even if we’re not there yet.”

You nodded.

He stepped forward again, slower this time, and cupped your face in both hands. His fingers were rough. Warm.

“If you don’t make it outta this,” he said quietly, “I swear to God, I’ll tear this whole building down with my bare hands.”

“I’ll make it,” you said. But your throat ached around the lie.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath was shaky, “I can’t lose you,” he whispered.

Then you were gone.

You slipped through the side door and into the hallway, boots hitting the broken tile as you sprinted into the open. You didn’t look back. You screamed. Loud. Desperate.

The infected turned fast. The sound of them—dozens of feet and claws and teeth—all pivoting your way, like a tidal wave of rot and violence.

And then they ran.

And you ran faster.

But then Danny spotted the tracks. "Could be strays," he said. “Or worse.”

He turned back after a mile—sprained his ankle on a patch of frozen earth and insisted you finish the loop alone.

You should’ve gone with him.

The trap snapped shut so fast you didn’t even see it.

One minute your boot crunched through a crust of snow, the next—snap—iron teeth clamped around your leg with a gut-wrenching, sickening crunch.

You screamed.

Loud. Unfiltered. The kind of scream that tore through the trees like a gunshot.

You hit the ground hard, vision spinning, pain burning white-hot up your spine. You clawed at the metal jaws, red staining the snow as you fought to pry them open—but it was useless. The teeth were buried deep. Too deep.

You screamed again.

***

Joel had been on edge all day.

Didn’t like splitting up, didn’t like the snow, didn’t like that you were out of his sight. You’d told him you were fine. “I’ve done this before,” you’d said, teasing. “I know how to shoot, cowboy.”

He almost smiled. Almost.

But the unease stayed.

Then—he heard it.

The scream.

It wasn’t far, maybe a mile off. High-pitched. Raw. A sound that cut straight through bone and instinct.

Tommy slowed beside him. “Jesus. That—was that a person?”

Joel was already moving.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That was her.”

Branches tore at his coat as he ran.

Snow kicked up in sheets under his boots, chest heaving, rifle slamming against his back. He didn’t think. Didn’t speak. Just followed the sound and the gut-wrenching certainty that it had been you.

He crashed through a thicket—and saw you.

Curled on your side in the snow, leg twisted in an old, rusted bear trap. Blood soaked through your pants and pooled beneath you.

“No—no, no, no—”

You looked up at the sound of his voice.

Your face crumpled. “Joel.”

He dropped to his knees beside you, already tearing off his gloves. “I’m here. I got you. Jesus Christ, baby—”

You let out a choked sob. “I didn’t see it.”

“I know.” His hands hovered over the trap, heart hammering. “Okay. I gotta open this. It’s gonna hurt.”

“It already hurts,” you whispered.

That nearly undid him.

Joel gritted his teeth and braced himself. “On three. One… two—”

He yanked the trap open on two. You screamed again, nearly blacked out. He caught you, pulling your upper body into his arms, letting you shake and sob against his chest.

“Shhh,” he murmured into your hair. “I know, I know. I got you. It’s done.”

He tore off his scarf and cinched it tightly above the wound. “Tommy’s comin’. He’ll bring a sled. You’re gonna be okay.”

You blinked up at him, glassy-eyed. “You heard me.”

“I did.”

“And you knew it was me.”

He swallowed hard, jaw working. “I’d know your voice anywhere.”

***

You woke in Jackson’s infirmary, leg stitched and bandaged, painkillers still swimming through your system.

Joel was there.

Sitting beside your bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed like he hadn’t moved since they’d brought you in.

Your voice came out rough. “How long was I out?”

His head snapped up. “Hey. You’re awake.” Relief softened his whole face. “You scared the hell outta me.”

You smiled faintly. “You’re one to talk. I thought you were gonna pass out after you opened that trap.”

He didn’t smile. Just reached for your hand.

“You promised me you’d be careful.”

“I was,” you said softly. “It just… happened."

Joel looked down at your hand in his. Thumb brushed your knuckles. “I don’t ever wanna hear you scream like that again.”

You squeezed his hand. “Then don’t let me out of your sight next time.”

Something shifted in his eyes. Something raw and unspoken.